


Spring Mourning

by Skele_Queen



Category: Fictif, Last Legacy (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Gen, Homesickness, I’m trying to worldbuild without worldbuilding, POV First Person, Slow Burn, a lot of mundane, also i have no beta, daily life in another world, look at all these damn millenials, main character thinks A LOT, mention of past death, sad attempt at humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 66,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27450619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skele_Queen/pseuds/Skele_Queen
Summary: Not every MC is a barista.She's been trying to get her life established, find the least sad brand of instant coffee, and figure out what's causing the cracks in her finger joints. Coming to in another world doesn't really help with any of that.*Title subject to change
Relationships: Felix (Last Legacy | Fictif)/Original Female Character(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. A Series Of Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon meeting a necromancer, expect melodrama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VNs are fun thanks to their ability to provide the player choice. However, shaping an MC can only go so far. This is meant to be an exploratory rewrite and semi-expansion of the original story, but tailored to a particular protagonist. Unlike the Cosplayer, this character has no in-depth knowledge of the big fancy Last Legacy RPG that wound up attracting so much attention at a con in the first place.
> 
> Expect heavy usage of original in-game dialogue.
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing and posting here /cough/so I have no idea what I'm actually doing/cough/. Hopefully you'll find some enjoyment in this, even if it's only to tide you over for the next game update.

I shouldn’t have touched it. There it was,  _ a staff _ , appearing as if out of thin air, ornate and thrumming with… something... something wholly out of place. Yet, there was a familiarity to it, a recognition, as if I had seen it in passing like a face on the street. My hand itched. It wasn’t a literal itch, rather the same sensation that leads fingertips to brush across the keyboard when there’s a lull between words. I really shouldn’t have, but I felt  _ compelled  _ to touch it. 

Like an  _ idiot _ .

There’s hushed whispers. Murmurs brush my ear so lightly I feel a gooseflesh tickling in the back of my mind, as if the wind is sighing. Or telling a secret.

“Five years I have dreamt of this day...” says a voice, “when at last we would be reunited.”

My senses came back slowly, then all at once. Perhaps it was the stillness being rattled by the hoarse emotion in that voice, contrasting against the backdrop of the breeze.

“Yet, it seems neither fate nor the stars can keep us apart.”

Perhaps it was the trembling hands that grasped mine. A stranger’s hands, grounding me in this unknown, unfolding situation more than my hacking throat, the seeping cold of stone, or the crimson moon invading my periphery.

“I never stopped looking for you. I never gave up.”

The figure kneeling before me is dressed in black. My hand still in his tentative grasp, he brings my knuckles to his lips. I felt warm teardrops land on the back of my hand. This wasn’t how I expected to be spending the weekend—a complete stranger tearfully proclaiming some deathless loyalty... 

“Oh, Rime... how I’ve missed you!”

Ah. 

_ There  _ it is. 

With that statement comes a crushing hug, as if the black-clad figure has found something infinitely precious worth more than the world. Shaking, it’s as if he’s trying to clutch and clamber towards someone he desperately fears losing. Presumably, someone he’s already lost. I pat his back awkwardly—it’s the best I can do.

Because, clearly, he is mistaken.

“Uhm, well, I’m sure they miss you too, stranger.”

Stillness.

“What?” His voice cracks with quiet surprise. Surprise, and disappointment. The man’s mouth flattened to a straight line. He finally looks at me—actually  _ looks _ .

“You’re not Rime…”

“Yeah, no I’m not… I’m... sorry to disappoint.” 

I mean that. 

For what feels like an eternity, he turns away with face in hands, putting his whole energy in staying still only to violently tremble in place.

It’s a terrible moment to watch.

My stomach lurches.

I can feel my lips part, but I have nothing to say. He aggressively tries to school his expression, rubbing away the tear streaks. I must be staring wide-eyed, for I can feel the air whisk the natural moisture from my eyes like reverse eye drops.

“Bloody hells.”

“Are… are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Finally finding opportunity to get off the ground, I brush the dust from my knees. These were ruins. Though scattered with candles, pages, and other signs of activity—likely from the individual in front of me—this place was definitely a ruin. And I don’t recognize it. “Where on Earth  _ am  _ I?”

The stranger looks at me for a long moment, the faucet of his tears was suddenly bottled, expression unreadable.

And I am  _ very _ good at reading expressions.

“You’re not on Earth. You’re in Astraea.”

I...

“...what?” 

Seriously,  _ what _ ? I’m sure my voice sounds dumb and weak, but you honestly can’t expect me to believe—

“I said, you’re in Astraea.”

“As..traea?” The name  _ tastes  _ strange. “That… is… I don’t even know what to make of that.” 

I still don’t.

“Well,” he speaks, straightening his waistcoat, “perhaps we should start with what you remember.”

“Uh…” I rake my memory trying to find the most recent links in the chain of memory, but it ends abruptly. This is  _ insanity _ . I knew my headache was bad, but not  _ this  _ bad. “Last thing I remember was a staff.”

“A staff?”

Feeling the ghost of that earlier compulsion, my fingers twitch. 

“It was a gold-wrought staff. With a... crystalline sphere—a pretty iridescent color. It, um, felt like glass when I touched it. But warm. It glowed and that’s the last thing I recall before,” I gestured, “this.”

Sometimes, you just want to run your fingertips across something, like when you see a plush blanket. Nobody expects that to get them into trouble. The man slides his hands across his face, turning away slightly, muttering under his breath. It’s an unfortunate comfort that someone else is as troubled by this as I am. After a long moment, he sighs.

“Bloody hells…” His look is still concerned. “Forgive me for my forwardness, but you are not who I expected.” Creeping in on the look of worry, apprehension, and suppressed tears, however, is an expression of inquisitiveness. “What manner of void fiend are you then? Lich? Revenant? Beholder with surplus eyes?”

I’m taking that last bit as a compliment. 

“Worse. A teacher.”

This gives him pause. “An  _ educator _ ?”

“That is an accurate synonym, yes.” And with that, I realized I sounded every bit the cliché. Out of habit I can’t help but speak with a tired amusement. “So the ‘surplus eyes’ aren’t too far off the mark. The name’s Bostic. Perri Bostic.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“It... seems I have made a grave mistake.” With a sigh, his tone changes. “Very well. Allow me to introduce myself.”

Placing one hand behind his back and sweeping the other in an arc, he bows with a practiced flourish.

“My name is Felix Iskandar Escellun. House unaffiliated. Necromancer.” His accent lilts with as much performance as his gestures. “From what realm do you hail from?”

“ _ Realm _ ?”

“Yes, well you are clearly not from Astraea.”

That’s right. Astraea. A blood-red moon.  _ Necromancy _ ... Toto, I don’t think we’re on Earth anymore. I feel the urges to laugh, cry, and scream. I do none of them.

“I’m dead. I’m dead, and the afterlife looks like a fantasy RPG.”

“Is this cesspool truly how you imagined the afterlife? Mildew, rubble, me—utterly humiliated.” His expression is tense, but shifts as quickly as a quirk of the brow. “Although, I suppose I should be flattered you discerned anything divine about me.”

Great.  _ A sarcastic one _ .

Though, despite the heavy-handed attempt to add flippancy in his voice, he persistently averts his eyes. 

“Bold of you to assume I meant Heaven and it’s pearly white gates.”

Might as well match his attempt to change the tone. Am I being set up for something? If this is a game, then fine,  _ let’s play _ . Lord knows I have no better ideas on how to process this. 

“Please. If this were a hell there’d be a great deal more fire and at least twice as many rats.”

“So Purgatory, then? Does that explain the light show?” 

It’s as good an explanation as any for the softly glowing wisps.

“Those are spirits.”

Oh yes. But  _ of course _ . Well, this day conspires to attack my staunch skeptic credentials. Assuming this isn’t the strangest hallucination I’ve ever had.

“I may have mixed up my  _ tals  _ with  _ pals  _ when inscribing the spell circle…” Observing what must be his handiwork, he continues muttering, clearly itching to solve this new puzzle before him. I still have my own questions, however, and I’d very much like them answered.

“To be clear—I’m  _ not  _ dead.”

“Sleep, and death, and the void all share their similarities, but you are very much alive.” Of all things, he smirks. “Take it from someone who has died once or twice before.”

“Because that’s not morbid at all. Is this just a normal Tuesday for you?”

At my statement his full attention came back on me, fingers raking through his hair, as if dealing with an impatient child unwilling to learn something so simple and basic. I’m assuming I sounded like an asshole. 

“Me?  _ Morbid _ !? You insult me, dear lady.” It was hard to tell if the underlying drama in his speech was mock hurt or actual exasperation. He shrugged it off. “Death has an undeservedly bad reputation. I suppose it is only natural for people to fear that which they do not understand.”

It was easy to hear from his voice and manner that this— _ that death _ —was his passion-study.

“But,” he continued, “I’ve dedicated my life to unraveling death’s mysteries. Just look!” Felix sweeps his hand towards the gently floating will-o-wisps. These specks meandered through the ruin like fireflies on a summer’s day, but without the buzzing warmth of the season’s late nights. No, tonight was far too crisp. It smelled of petrichor, the air pressure too low. The drifting of these lights was unlike any insect. They floated in a manner akin to oversized dust motes in a still room.

“What are these…?”

His eyes scanned the scene in a way that looked at both everything, yet nothing in particular. 

“Decanted spirits. Vestiges of the lingering dead. Ordinarily they would be invisible to people like you.”

“People like me?”

He stutters, catching himself before speaking. I hope he didn’t interpret my tone as offended. 

“Ah, hmmm… How shall I put this?” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Typically spirits are invisible, hidden from mortal eyes. That is unless one has experienced death first hand.”

“Like you.”

Felix reaches towards one of these pyreflies. His fingers closed gently around it. They moved with incredible familiarity to such a strange existence. The ethereal lights seemed impossibly delicate in that moment. He is in his element.

“When my spell… malfunctioned, these spirits became visible to all.”

Then it should be a comfort that the phenomena which brought me here didn’t kill me to do it.

I don’t claim belief in spirits. Can I trust any of these statements?

He turns back to me, the impossible aether still cradled in his grasp. Impossible, and curious. As I lean in, his fingers part. Up close, what was a white light shows itself to be like it’s own prism, dividing the white into the various colors of the rainbow. If I stared too hard, I swear I could have seen fractal patterns repeating into an imperceivable degree, though that may have been my own mind straining to interpret what was before me. The spirit remained hovering in his hands, seeming to be more there the more I stared, which made it even more  _ impossible _ . And that whisper in the back of my skull returns. Somehow, I can feel my auditory centers buzzing.

“Such beauty.”

I take a glance at his eyes as I look for confirmation that this isn’t a trick of the mind. I’ve always thought I taught myself to look at what I see, rather than what I think I see. The spirit’s glimmer reflects in silver eyes.

He really is a necromancer. 

“I, ah—I meant the spirit, of course. Not…” He cuts himself off, before continuing. “All this—What I mean to say is that death can be quite beautiful.”

Perhaps I was never particularly adamant in my belief that spirits didn’t exist anyway. But if this is all true then...

“ _ This _ is what happens when a person dies?” That seems like an empty result for a soul. Almost like a step down compared to simply believing souls weren’t a tangible actuality at all.

“Not necessarily. Spirits can take many forms.”

His reply brings more questions. 

“ _ You’re _ not a spirit are you?”

“Not yet. Spirits are not whole souls. They are more akin to residue…” He speaks with the confidence of a professor in front of his class. I suppose a necromancer would have authority on this front. But he cuts off the conversation line. “How I would love to lecture you on the nature of death, souls, and spirits, but now is not the time.”

The breeze arrives, whisking the spirit away and bringing a chill to my skin. The spirit rises and becomes indistinguishable from it’s starry backdrop.

“Where does anyone even learn any of this?”

“I attended a most prestigious magic academy and look where it got me—Dredging for spirits in this dreary backwater.” Felix lets out a low, self-deprecating chuckle. In the moment, he seems to speak mostly to himself. “If only my old professors could see me now. Oh, they’d have a good laugh.” He trails off, losing more of the humor in his voice. “But those bridges are long burnt. Let’s tarry not. We’ve more pressing business to attend to.”

And he’s not wrong about that.

“Well if you brought me here, that means you can send me back too, right?”

Though I’m still not ruling out the possibility of this being the longest, most lucid dream I’ve ever had.

“Ah, I can definitely send you home. Probably.” That’s not a comforting word. “First, I’ll need that Relic—Er, that staff you mentioned.”

“Oh, that’s all you need? Then you can send me back?”

“Perhaps.” Another worrisome word. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know. I think it may have vanished after I touched it. Unless it’s landed somewhere around here…”

The color drains from his face. I quickly scan the scene, but come up with nothing. Having it with me would have been too easy. I make note of all the best places to hide a camera, in case this is the most elaborate prank I’ve ever experienced. But… as the supposed spirits float by, I have less and less faith, and pray more and more, that this is all a charade.

“Ah, that… complicates things.”

Why did I expect this drop? 

“‘Complicates things’  _ how _ , exactly?”

Bang! 

My heart’s in my throat. A door behind me stirs violently, handle rattling and wooden center bowing.

“I’ll explain after we’ve shed those pesky guards.” Felix’s tone is hurried, but the almost amused energy has returned. He’s clearly going to be Trouble, with a capital T. “My summoning may have drawn some unwanted attention. Was the storm too much?” He smirks. I squint. “Ah, what can I say, I love a good show. And did I mention we’re trespassing?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“I feel like that part was implied by the rest.”

Felix breathes in deeply, extending his right arm. It makes a graceful sweep, the air reacting with newfound energy and the slightest scent of ozone. A flat black opening ripples into existence midair. No light leaves it, nor can an image from within be seen.

“Hie thee through the portal.”

“Alright Shakespeare, you expect me to start jumping through random black holes!?” I could feel my volume rising. The door bends more, splintering. “Where does this even go!?”

“Somewhere safe. Or rather, to  _ someone _ safe.” The pounding noise becomes steadier and stronger. If I really am here, he is the guilty party for ripping me away, at least partially. Magical or no, he could very well be as cliché a necromancer as in the stories… in other words, the villain. Perhaps I should go to the guards. Police? The information I have is too scant…

His voice interrupts my thoughts. 

“I’d appreciate it if you hurried. Holding this open is harder than it looks.”

But, if he did bring me here, then he’d be the best bet for reversing it, wouldn’t he? I start towards the strange blackness, but Felix outstretches an arm. He’s holding my bag. It’s some comfort to know it’s stuck with me.

“Fear not. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

As a group of armored guards burst into the room, I leap. 

The feeling is weightless. I’m Alice, falling down the rabbit hole, but without the wonder, and more of the confusion and... possibly fear. Much more fear.  


There’s darkness.

And grapes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bad habit of posting things THEN editing, so pardon me if I haven't caught something yet.
> 
> Feel free to drop some comments down below. I love interacting with y'all, and am always open to suggestions.


	2. A Leveled Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon meeting a knight, expect unexpected hobbies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the prologue marches on, Anisa gives a good downtime transition to process the situation.
> 
> (12/4/2020: As of the most recent update, I've rewritten this, trying to incorporate elements of both the older scene and newer introduction to our favorite cat lady knight).

I definitely tasted grapes—sour ones. 

My back hurts from impact. A variety of bumps and corners press into my flesh and bone, the worst offender being some small sharp edge where my left shoulder meets my neck. Was that a paperweight? A box? My vision swims. The rustling under my hanging limbs implies I landed on a desk. Probably. Yet, of all the screaming senses, from the pain in my back to the smell of books, the one that stood out the most was the _grapes_. Maybe this truly is a bad trip after all. Though I’m not sure if the prospect of being drugged is better or worse than unwarranted interdimensional travel.

If it is the latter, I’ve found something absolutely _incredible_ . This should be a moment of discovery. Another world is a thing for the history books! Imagine, my name in print, decades later... But that assumes I’m not turned into a science experiment or start a war of the worlds. Worst case: _I’m trapped_. I shudder. Felix briefly provided a chance to regain my bearings, only to spit me out of a portal God-knows-where.

Metal shings. The sound pierces my ears.

I sit up, only to be met with cold, sharpened, steel, leveled at my jugular. I can’t tell if my head spins from the sudden upright position, the portal, or my headache. Whatever the cause, it’s being beat out by panic. My hands and feet are ice. This is _not_ reality TV.

Following the thin blade, my eyes settle on its wielder.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

“Wh—!?”

My chest and head are warm, too warm, and tight. The cold steel lifting my chin is a stark contrast, the temperature difference burning.

“Though I have to say, you’re one of the worst assassins I’ve ever met.”

“Ah… I...” 

“I won’t hurt you, if you answer my questions. How did you get here?”

I’m in no position to argue. Her gaze is sharp. Maybe it’s the relative dimness of the room, but her eyes look almost feline. The stern calmness in her tone is authoritative. She’s no novice. Nobody would interrogate an intruder like that unless they know how to dance with danger. 

Again, I look at the sword between us. I think I’m choking on my own thoughts.

“...pointy…”

For a split second, her hair bristles upward, a flick of confusion in her eyes.

“Do you mock me?” 

“No! Just a— _no_.”

“Enough. Otherwise I’ll gag you before putting you in shackles.”

Jesus. Mary. And Joseph.

Is this how I die?

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Aren’t you supposed to buy me dinner first?”

My sense of shame died a long time ago. I suppose it’s about time the rest followed it.

The woman puffs up even more, a redness on her face.

“Wh—What are you—?” She shakes her head, steeling herself once more. “Answer my question. Where in the hells did you come from?”

I was about to answer ‘Earth’ but fear-induced pragmatism made sure I thought better of it. It is no use to panic, at least not externally. Emotions need to be kept in check, otherwise I might be _eating_ that blade.

“I—I was sent here by that goth guy—Felix. He said you’d help me.” Well, he didn’t say those words specifically, but giving that impression should help. Maybe.

“Felix!? He sent you here?” She lowered her sword slightly. She was still on guard, but at least not poised to finish me with a mere flick.

“Yes.” I sit up a little straighter. “If you know him I’m assuming I’ve landed in the right place—”

—for once.

The last part is unspoken. I’m not sure how much I should let on about Earth. Felix took it well—better than me considering I’m still actively trying to _not_ process it as much as humanly possible. However, I do not have the same assurances with anyone else. He _brought_ me here, so has reason to believe me. This woman does _not_. And even if she did, she’s already pointed a blade at me—it’s entirely possible being an Earthling could be dangerous here. I simply don’t know.

“Why would he send you to me?”

“He was trying to help me, but he got into some trouble in the process.” I shift and another scroll falls into a heap. “I promise I’m telling the truth. You can frisk me if you need to. I’m completely unarmed.”

She’s _staring_ at me. 

I know many stares. Stares always _mean_ something. And this was the stare of an inquisitor. 

There’s a terse moment, but then she lowers her sword. I release a ragged breath. She sheathes her blade, but the air is still thick. It fills my lungs about as effectively as molasses. 

“You should have led with that.”

Getting to my feet, the blood rushes from my head. Gritting my teeth I pretend it’ll pass in a moment but my knees buckle. The woman catches me, giving me a moment to gather my bearings.

“Is this another part of your game?” She huffs, still on high, but helping me right myself regardless. Her aggression must not be needless, then.

“Sorry, but I don’t like to play if I know I won’t win.”

“Well you seem witty enough to make it work.” 

The woman leads me over to a tall armchair by the fireplace. I let myself sink heavily into the cushions as she steps back. My hand blends circles into my right temple.

“Thank you...?”

“You may call me Anisa Anka.”

A smile. A confident one at that.

“Well, Lady Anka, sorry about wrecking your desk.” 

“Oh—I’m just a knight lieutenant passing through this region. The title is unnecessary.” She blushes a bit before continuing. “I suppose it doesn’t make sense of an assassin to be dressed like this.”

Her look is scrutinizing. She glances briefly at the desk again. I think I catch her eyes lingering on my bag, some of its contents spilling across the desk. There’s a long pause as she appraises my form and effects.

“Are you an interloper? From another realm?” 

I tense.

“How—? What proof do you have of that?” Scanning my face, she relaxes after a beat. The whole demeanor of the situation changed from suspicion to strained amazement. 

“Your clothing.”

Oh. An outfit would be a giveaway for anyone who knows what they’re looking at. Felix’s getup could pass back home if a few alterations were made, but her blue ensemble would turn heads on Earth. And this is without mentioning her features—subtle but neat variations in her skin tone. Perhaps it’s some sort of tattooing? She starts to wrangle the mess. I’m always within her line of sight.

“Tell me your name.” 

“Perri.”

No point in doing anything to ruffle her metaphorical feathers after she’s just stopped directing her blade at me. Finding the state of her desk satisfactory, she turns to fully face me. 

“At first I thought you might be an Elven spy snuck over the Canopus Strait but your outfit is far too unusual in style. Not to mention the materials.”

Good eye. But, how would she know my outfit was _specifically_ otherworldly? Wouldn’t being foreign or just a weird avant-garde bohemian be first on the list of assumptions?

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly about my clothes were you looking at?”

“Oh! The pins on your jacket.” She crouches by the chair, and peers up at me, revealing my eyes were not deceiving me before when I registered her eyes as feline. “I’ve seen the designs before.”

That’s… actually a comforting sign. Earth is not a complete unknown here. Which means a route back is viable.

“What did you hope to gain by coming here?” she asks.

“That mage, Felix, said this’d be a safe place,” Anything he intended beyond that is a mystery. “But everything happened in a rush. So anything beyond that is lost on me”

“Ah. Well, then let me welcome you to the world of **Astraea**. This city is called Mournfall.” The barest hint of a smile creeps on her face, despite her closed body language. “Now, why did Felix summon you here? Are you involved?”

Now _there’s_ a thought.

“Oh no no. We only just met today. Or tonight, as the case may be.” I sigh. “He, uh, mistook me for somebody else. I just wanna figure out what happened. Hopefully with a straight answer this time. Not a lecture.”

“Hmmm. Felix has always been theatrical.” She stands. “Still, he’s very skilled with magic. He is Starsworn, after all.”

“Starsworn?”

Her expression changes, almost wistful.

“The Starsworn were a knightly order. He and I are two of it’s last remnants.”

“You make it sound like they’re all gone.”

“Yes. Five years ago, all of the knights lost their lives defending Mournfall. The order was officially disbanded. Only four squires survived.” Anisa moves away and leans against her desk, guard dropping in thought.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea…”

What kind of threats even exist here to wipe out an entire order of knights so quickly and thoroughly? Fighters who are trained and presumably have access to magic? Do I even want to know the answer? It’s all so gruesome. And if she and Felix were mere squires, they must have survived through sheer dumb luck. That’s beyond heavy.

I feel kind of rude bringing the conversation back to myself. But at the same time, the topic seems like it might be too sensitive for a stranger to linger on.

“I— I have no idea how I got here or why… or if I can even get home.”

“I’d like to know how Felix brought you here myself. It shouldn’t be possible—not anymore.” Keyword, ‘anymore’. Anisa’s brows knit together. “And especially not from Earth. Could this be one of his schemes?”

“Does he have a known track record of ‘schemes’?”

“You could say that.”

Considering the people Lady Luck conspires to throw in my path, I shouldn’t be surprised.

“So how do you know of Earth at all? I’ve certainly never heard of Astraea.”

Anisa nods at my bag, contents threatening to spill out on the desk. My planbook in particular is looking worse for wear. I also don’t recall throwing a granola bar in there.

“The things you carry, and wear, are very unique. I’ve got a bit of a hobby…” Hesitating, she lowers her eyes before reverting to a schooled expression. It’s such a contrast from our intense greeting. “Ah. Forget it.”

“Too late now. Now I have to hear this.” I can feel my eyebrow quirk, despite how acutely aware I am of where the door is if I need to bolt. 

“I guess you could say I collect and study artifacts from other realms.” She maintains an even expression, but there’s an underlying tone of sheepishness. When she notices my gaze, she averts her eyes in what I can only assume is embarrassment. 

“I’m still surprised anyone knows about my world. I wonder if I can still get wi-fi…”

“...What is wi..fi...?”

“O-Oh. Well…”

“Nevermind, it’s fine. I’ve studied Earth a little, but my knowledge is sporadic at best. When I was a child, I had this card with a picture of a place called Orr-Land-o.”

Wait.

“Orlando?”

She claps her hands together, delighted. You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.

“Yes! Sunny beaches as far as the eye can see. Curious, black and white mouse-man creatures.” She nods to the pins on my jacket. I had half forgotten I was even wearing a Mickey Mouse enamel pin. “I became obsessed with these smooth, soft, rounded sea dragons—’dolphins.’ I’ve always wanted to visit Earth. If only to see Orr Land.”

“You… want to go to _Florida_? Wow. That’s…” not my top recommendation for an interdimensional traveler, but maybe I shouldn’t go bursting her bubble. “That’s an… unexpectedly commonplace choice.”

Her face lights up.

“You’ve been there?”

“Sure. It’s, uh, it’s definitely got things to do.” Like getting bitten by mosquitoes.

“Oh, what I’d give to see the dolphins and perhaps catch and eat one. I imagine they’re exquisite.” She smiles. Again, I’d hate to ruin her dreams, but she didn’t choose a place that’s particularly difficult to insult.

“I… would not advise that.”

I fear she’s still imaging what a dolphin tastes like as she gazes into the fireplace, an undercurrent of excitement still present in her unusual eyes.

“So—uh, thanks for not shanking me.”

“It was a bad first impression, wasn’t it? My apologies, Perri. After all, it’s not everyday a comely woman materializes on my desk.”

I blink. That is the most antediluvian compliment I’ve ever gotten. Anisa swiftly quiets herself and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat. I’ve moved to interlace my fingers in front of me, to ensure they’re perfectly still and neutral and not shaking at all. Her eyes flick to them. She seems to make her mind up on something before heading towards a cabinet by the fireplace. She’s rummaging around, though I’m not sure for what. Hopefully nothing to worry about.

“So… I’m not in trouble, am I?”

I get a short chuckle in response. It’s surprising, considering how I’m still on edge, if the mild constriction of my heart is any determiner.

“Of course not! Felix on the other hand… It’s so irresponsible of him to abandon you like that.” 

That’s a relief. I release a breath I didn’t notice I was holding. During the lull in conversation, Anisa removes an iron kettle from the fireplace, clearly full and ready for whatever use she has planned. 

“Care for some tea?”

It could be cantarella, for all I know. At least poison would leave me a more decent corpse compared to the sword.

“...Tea would be nice. Thank you.”

She prepares two cups, handing one to me. I hold the saucer carefully in one hand, though I’d much rather wrap all my fingers around the body of the cup. Steam rises from the amber liquid. It has a familiar smell—definitely a black tea.

“Excellent. A toast then.”

Anisa lifts a cup, and I raise mine to match.

“And to what are we toasting?”

“Hmmm.... To chance meetings and the glorious mysteries of life.” 

She pauses, giving me an expectant smile, pulling me into the moment. It’s subtle, but infectious. I start.

“And to new friends.”

“And old friends.” Her smile broadens, and I can’t stop my own smile from emerging. “May our hearts guide us true.”

Our glasses clink. It’s spiced faintly with cardamom and cinnamon. Not too far off from what I’d buy for myself.

“How do you like it?” Anisa says with an expectant look. “I’m afraid it’s the best I can afford on my meager salary.”

“It’s delicious. Thanks.” Saucer now in my lap, I roll the cup in my palm. Having something warm in my hands eases some of the day’s stress. As the heat dissipates from the porcelain, Anisa approaches me and holds out a hand.

“Good, good. May I?” I hand her the cup and saucer, and she places it on her desk. “Ordinarily I'd offer you an herbal tea, but I have a feeling we’re in for a long night.” She sighs. Her gaze trails back the haphazard books on her desk, however. 

“Something up?”

I hear familiar bells. She’s found my phone. 

“I’ve never seen such an object before. The charms hanging from it are cute. Are they cats?”

My phone continues to jingle in her grasp. She’s holding it daintily, between two fingers. It’s an odd sight to see it handled in such a curious way. 

“I hope it’s not some sort of calculation machine!” Her manner is filled with curiosity, though she’s still trying to restrain her disposition. “Where are all the buttons? This would be an impractical design.”

She continues to observe the phone closely, now turning it over in her hands, fingers tracing the edges. I only now see the toll all this portal jumping has taken on the device. That’s going to cost me a pretty penny.

“It’s not a calculator. It’s a phone.”

“A what?”

“A phone. It’s mainly a communication device. Basically two phones can transmit sounds between each other. So two people can have a conversation without being in the same place. Text messages too.”

She regards the phone with a newfound awe.

“You mean this tiny, little thing allows one to communicate across great distances?”

“Bingo.” I snap my fingers in emphasis.

“And without a speck of magic? Impressive.” I’m not sure if the phone still works or not, but she begins to poke and prod all the dips and bumps. “I know an artificer or two back home who’d die to take this apart—see how it ticks.”

“Uh, please don’t. That’d void my warranty—”

The screen flickers. She’s found the power button. Green eyes widen in wonder as she brings it closer to her face. It does it’s typical boot up, apps starting to initialize.

There’s a buzz.

And a crack.

Hand covering mouth, Anisa stares at the phone where it impacted the hard stone floor. She hovers over it, picking it up, with a look of horror on her face.

“Oh no… Perri…” Her voice wavers, though she manages to retain composure. “My apologies. I didn’t expect… that.”

Gingerly, she hands the phone to me, acting as if it was made of glass. Which to be fair, it is. Despite the protective case, the phone refuses to turn on. And thus, with my phone die the dreams of sharing music they’d be disgusted by like a scene from time travel fiction. That is, honest to God, truly disappointing. I let out a heavy breath.

“It’s okay. It was already broken.”

“Are you quite sure? Perhaps we can find an artificer who could fix it.”

“No no, it’s fine. Apple would be most _displeased_.”

“Apple? Is that the creator?”

“You could say that.” I shrug. “It was an accident. Besides, even if it was in working order it wouldn’t be useful here since there are no other phones to connect with.” And I only downloaded songs for ringtones. The lack of wi-fi is a cruel, cruel mistress.

“Ah, speaking of accidents, I take it Felix bringing you here may have been an accident as well.”

“The fact you don’t sound more surprised does not fill me with confidence.”

“Felix is gifted, but he lacks patience and… well, basic common sense.” Oh dear Lord. “I’m afraid we’ll need his magical expertise if we’re to see you safely home.”

Note her use of the word ‘afraid’. This is going to be trickier than I thought. I can feel the blood leaving my extremities as I try to swallow the lump in my throat. In that moment, Anisa steps before me and raises a right hand to her chest. Her look is one of resolve. The voice that carries her words cuts sharply through my anxiety.

“When I was a child I dreamt of one day rescuing a princess. On my honour as a knight, I promise to see you safely home, Perri—and I’ve never broken a vow.” Her look softens with a charming smile. “Now, let’s find that pesky mage.”

She has enough honest confidence for the both of us. It doesn’t stick with me too long though. A loud knock at the door nearly sends me flying out of my own skin. A pair of guards enter, hauling their catch by the elbows, shoes comically gliding over the rug.

“Speak of the devil.” she mutters. “Good evening, Felix. It’s been too long.”

“Well met, Annie. I had hoped we’d reunite under better circumstances…”

“Please leave him here, thank you.” 

Voice all business, the guard’s heed Anisa’s command and release Felix. One produces a sealed scroll for Anisa. Bowing in deference they take their leave. Knight Lieutenant Anka indeed. Nonplussed by the sitcom entrance, Felix dusts off his jacket and affects an air of haughtiness with an unnerving speed.

“I’ll have you know I meant to get caught.” Classic. If I rolled my eyes, it was so involuntary I didn’t realize. Though I admit his presence has calmed my nerves considerably. It’s nice to know I haven’t been abandoned. He turns to me before continuing. “That said, I am relieved to see you in one piece, Perri.”

“Why wouldn’t I be in one piece?” 

I deadpanned with a lot more deadpan than intended. He continued on without a care.

“Portals are temperamental things. For all I knew you wound up flailing in some abyssal trench. And there’s that godsdamned grape flavor…”

My mouth’s agape. If he did actually notice my deadpan from earlier, he _missed the entire point_ of it. Thank God he sent me to Anisa.

“And what of you? Go on a little adventure in your own abyssal trench?”

He flicks his hair back, a cocky look on his face.

“A true necromancer never divulges their secrets.”

Anisa meanwhile had been scanning the scroll, fingers tracing the neat, spencerian script. She cuts in with a comedian’s timing.

“This report says you were discovered thrashing about in the rose bushes behind the temple.”

“Don’t look so smug, Annie. It took five of your underlings just to restrain me.”

“So I read. The healer’s working late tonight thanks to your shenanigans.” There’s an edge of politely restrained annoyance to her voice. Felix bows as if taking her tone as applause. “It’s been five years and you haven’t grown out of this behavior.”

He stumbles at that.

“I-I—It was a mistake. An uncharacteristic error—”

“It’s highly characteristic.”

“Since you’re here now” I cut in, “are you going to send me home?”

“Ah, yes. About that...” His bravado is gone. “I can’t.”

“ _You can’t_ !? But _you_ brought me here. Proof of concept right there.”

“A _mistake_ brought you here. An error I cannot hope to easily replicate.” I don’t like the look in his eyes. “I’m afraid that returning you home is no simple matter.”

Anisa steeples her fingers. Her words come slow and deliberate, as if speaking to a child.

“Tell us what you need, Felix.”

“Months—mayhaps years to recreate tonight’s trial.” 

My heart stammers. I try to keep my voice even, but it’s a challenge.

“Don’t you have something we can do now then?” 

He smirks. 

“Or Sage. Three Starsworn ought to be able to handle one interrealm interloper, no?”

“Sage?” Anisa groans. “Ugh, no. You can’t be serious. Where would we even find him?”

But as the words leave her mouth, realization dawns on her face, thoughts spoken aloud by the flippant necromancer.

“ _The Saucy Gull_.”

“The Saucy— _No_ , Felix. We’re not taking Perri anywhere near that putrid dump.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Come along, Perri.” I trail after Felix. 

I hear Anisa sigh behind me, before moving into my path. She turns to me, tossing a navy cloak from a stand. 

“Best no one get a good look at you. Scum can smell innocence from a mile away.”

I pull it on. It’s woollen, so should keep out the increasing night chill.

“Do I even _want_ to ask about The Saucy Gull?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get footing with this protagonist, specifically getting her general tone through, which might be a bit slow-going since the prologue has a habit of dragging people along. Which is fair, considering they barely even get to process what the hell is happening.
> 
> After the update, I've also noticed Anisa is much more serious. It's pretty hot, ngl, but her vibe was so charming when she's cheerful. Presumably the friendliness we saw in the old version of the prologue is still there and we just caught her in aggressive work-mode, so I'm trying to blend both (which will be easier since I would like a greater focus on day-to-day once leaving the prologue). In this chapter at least, that's taken the form of giving more time between the actual landing and the guards finding Felix and dragging him in. I feel like it would still take a decent amount of time for guards to catch a wily, knight-trained necromancer and then drag him all the way to the tower like the portal-less muggles they are.


	3. A Rough Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon meeting a sellsword, expect things to get sexy dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Sage at The Saucy Gull, we're more than halfway through the prologue.

Piss. It smelled like piss. Specifically stale piss, and body odor, with a sickening degree of alcohol. If I breathed too deeply I probably would have developed ketoacidosis. This is _exactly_ how I imagined an old-school fantasy tavern. And that includes the clientele. 

Considering the sheer amount of eyepatches, they should just rename this place ‘gouge-eye’. Anisa and Felix scan the room. I, on the other hand, have no actual idea what to look for. I turn to the mage.

“Do you see Sage? What does he look like?”

“Big, scruffy, as likely to kill you as he is to kiss you.”

“That tells me literally nothing—”

“Do I spy racing rats? By the kitchen!?” 

Ew. 

This dive is grimier than a truck stop gas station. PETA would have protested over the _human_ conditions. Unfortunately, the rats are probably the friendliest part of this joint. A hush falls over the room. And nearly all eyes are on Anisa.

Oh no .

The knight gives them an overtly toothy smile and a little wave. A _wave_.

She starts.

“H-Hello there—woah.” I grab both my companions by the arms and march right towards the nearest counter.

“Bartender!” The man in question looks just as cliché as the tavern. “I’ve had a rough day. You, uh, got something to fix that?”

He turns to regard me, with his one good eye. Because _of course_ he’s got an eyepatch. He grunts.

“That depends. How bad’s the day, and is it ‘bout to get worse?”

“I dunno.” I lean an elbow on the counter, intertwining my fingers. “It’s late—how exactly could it get any worse at this point?”

“I think that depends on your company.” He nods to the area behind me. The rest of the tavern is still eyeing us, ready to eject us if given the opportunity. The ones staying back are likely still weighing their options. A few, however, have shifted, at the ready.

If a fight breaks out, I’m _screwed_.

“Hey, I’m just looking for a little pick-me-up. Or rather, there’s _someone_ I need to pick up.” Lordy. I’m a teacher. My coworkers may be notorious drinkers during finals season but hanging out in seedy bars and milking the barkeep is _not_ in the typical skill set. But de-escalation is, _right_ ? “Look, I’ve been travelling and I’m _tired_. I just wanna wrap up some business with a bottle of something halfway decent.”

“Oh?” Came a new voice behind me. “And jus’ what might that business be?”

I’m really _not_ in the mood for this.

“I’m sorry but when were _you_ a part of this conversation?” My accent was definitely coming out. 

He sneered.

“When I _decided_ to be.” 

Oh hell no.

“Sir, Imma have to ask you to back up. My business is my business and your business is your business. And I’ve no interest in your business unless you start getting into mine.”

“But what if ‘e don’t take kindly to _your_ ‘business’ ‘ere?”

Ooh. Crap. I didn’t plan for this direction of conversation. I look to the bartender, but he just stays disinterested as ever. I’m fumbling for a retort, when Anisa cuts in. 

“We have no intent for anything but strong spirits! And of course, illicit rat racing, my favorite sport.”

Her manner is embarrassingly awkward. ‘ _They can smell innocence’_ indeed. She nudges Felix. He continues where she leaves off, in a melodramatic tone.

“Oh dear, I believe we’re in the wrong watering hole. This isn’t the Cheeky Chameleon, is it?”

Silence.

Christ on a cracker. These two share a single brain cell _between_ them.

A rat’s shrill squeak breaks through. 

Weapons are drawn.

Some scraggly man missing all his left hand digits save pinky points at Anisa, in sudden confirmation.

“Izza knight! We’re busted!!!”

Chaos erupts.

A mace comes flying at Anisa. She side-steps the blow, grabs the man in front of me, and uses him to knock the mace-wielder into a bench. The force of the throw leaves them reeling. To my right a trio armed to the teeth round on Felix. In a blink they’re gone. A portal has opened in the floor. Felix leans over it and waves. 

“Bon voyage! Enjoy your abyssal trench.”

Someone else guns for me. I kick a stool out, just enough to trip them into the counter. I grab an empty bottle and smack their face with it. Unlike the movies, bottles decidedly _do not_ break when up against a human head. It just makes this guy angrier. The bartender remains nonchalant.

“Hey, you break it, you bought it.” 

What—does he _reuse_ these?

The butt of Anisa’s sword meets my attacker’s temple. He collapses on the spot. 

“Go!” she orders. “Hide!”

Don’t have to tell me twice. I try to stay out of the crosshairs and weave around the fray. But, in the free-for-all, I spot someone. I never forget a face. And I _know_ that face. I’ve seen her before. Considering I’ve only been in Astraea for a grand total of two meetings and one bar brawl, that can only mean one thing.

 _Earthling_.

But it’s hard to confirm anything at this distance. Did someone else get caught in this otherworldly mess? I have to get a closer look. _Now_.

“Hoi! You— Wait!”

I lurch after them, only for a flying _battle axe_ to cross my path. Battle. **_Axe_ **. It lodges into the wall beside me, missing my nose by mere inches. 

Shitshitshit.

The finger-challenged man from earlier advances, machete in his right. Naturally this is the point where I realize I’ve literally dropped the bottle. The best I have is a credit card and some cash.

“Hey, man… I’m telling ya, I don’t want any trouble. I, uh, don’t even know those two over there. I just met ‘em today.” He keeps coming towards me. “Maybe we can make a deal?”

Oh boy. Do I sound as desperate as I feel? 

He chuckles.

I’m assuming yes, _I do_ sound desperate.

He raises his blade. And a wild fist collides with his jaw. As the craggy man finds himself kissing the floor, a tall figure in red looms over him. And… And he has _cat_ ears?

“Follow me if you want to live.”

Because being saved by an _Inuyasha_ expy isn’t surreal at all.

He extends a hand, knuckles still red from the impact. I take it. I’m not here to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’ve completely lost track of Anisa and Felix, and I refuse to jump back into the middle of that clusterfuck. I’m led into a side area, though I can still hear crashing and thrashing. 

“Well well, were you planning to talk Sticky Finger Syd to death?”

“Sticky Fing—? No. I don’t want to know.” I rub my forehead. “I didn’t come here to fight. If anything I was trying to _avoid_ that.”

He flashes a charming smile. Considering the circumstances, that’s a worrisome sign.

“Well if it’s protection you seek, you’ve come to the right man.” Jabbing a thumb at himself, I look this man up and down, trying to decipher his offer.

“You some sort of bodyguard?”

“Bodyguard, soldier, spy… For the right price, I’ll be whatever you want.” I could have sworn he literally _purred_ that last line.

“Is that how you lost your shirt…?”

The tall man’s ears flatten, tail lashing.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“You look like a stripper.”

“I’m a sellsword!” He clicks his tongue. “Half of being a merc is appearance. It’s all about the branding.” His tail swishes. 

“So your brand is half-naked?”

“I was thinking _sexy dangerous_ .” Well, round up the rest of the Chargers then. “Though if I had known you’d be _looking_ I’d have worn my leather pants.”

I roll my eyes.

Just end me.

“Well I’m a little short on money at the moment.”

“I think you’ll find I can be quite flexible.” He winks at me and gives a toothy grin. I try very hard not to laugh, but when I notice how pointy his grinning teeth are it dies a little in my throat anyway. Those canines are way too sharp to be human. Though, I suppose the ears and tail should have given that away already. His ears perk up. Gold eyes look past me towards whatever he’s eavesdropping on.

“It’s about to get ugly.” There’s still levity on his face. “You should hide.”

I look up and down the hall, noticing the human shadows shifting under the door. There’s no convenient closets for me to slip into. And I’m not clambering up towards the rafters, because there are none.

“Hide _where_?”

Mischief lights up his face. I’m not sure if I trust this look.

“I’ve got an idea but…” In three strides he’s closed the distance. Instinctively, I back up, only to meet the wall. “...don’t take this the wrong way.”

He’s in my personal bubble. I _don’t_ like it.

But I see the strategy.

“This is a little cliché, isn’t it?” Please don’t turn into a full on fake-out make-out...

“Tch. You got a better idea?”

Do I?

“No. I got nothin’.”

I can’t pull off a Road to El Dorado style distraction-argument. Not with a headache and a stranger, at the very least. Beyond that, there’s really nothing. I cross my arms. I lean back against the wall, trying to force casualness, but it’s hard to do when he’s hovering over me, one arm braced against the wall. I can feel a difference in temperature in the air in front of me compared to the cool wall. We’re still for a long moment. Am I supposed to keep the conversation going? The silence is awkward, especially after this wild night. The man lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle.

“Relax. You’ve got one job: Keep quiet.”

“Okay.”

I find myself looking constantly away from his eyes, instead choosing to visually trace his scarred jaw or observe the red of his coat. I do this because I can sense in my periphery that he’s still observing me. Sighing, I glance at my watch out of habit.

“You’ve got a real strange way of showing nerves.”

“Oh?”

He cocks his head to the side, brow raised. It was very catlike indeed.

“You’re tense.” Again, true to his catlike appearance, gets even _more_ in my face, choosing curiosity over personal space. And this time, I have to make eye contact. Even his pupils are feline. The dim light flickers across them. “I can see it in your eyes.”

I can feel my lower lids raise ever so slightly. I know I’m scowling. But I still flatten my back against the wall, arms tightly crossed. He maintains the proximity.

“What if I said I could smell your fear?”

“What if I said you’ve confused it with your own bullshit?”

He grins again.

“You may put on a brave face.” He moves even closer. “But you can’t hide anything from me. Fear’s a good thing. It’ll keep you alive longer.” 

There’s a story there. I can sense it.

“Do you always try and have a heart-to-heart with strangers?”

“Only the fun ones. Name’s Sage.”

Felix’s description was _useless_ , but accurate.

“Perri.”

As I’m about to bring up Anisa and Felix the door creaks open. Sage raises a finger to his lips, glancing at the suspicious characters filing in. One ballsy asshole wolf-whistles at the scene. At least my face is obscured.

“Sage, you old dog! Thought that was you prowlin’.”

“Why the hell’d you punch me in the face?!” This second sounded like the creep from before. 

Sage responds mirthfully, never losing a mild grin. But his gaze is cool. He’s the center of attention, not me, and I can’t help but pray it stays that way.

“You know, you’ve just got one of those punchable faces. Now scram. Can’t you see I’m a little busy here?”

The ballsy guy ignores their tension and keeps yammering. 

“Guards are comin’. We thought we might take a trip to the armory, nick a few things while they’re out. We could always use more muscle. Unless you’re too busy necking.”

My face heats a little. Sage remains unfazed.

“Sounds like a lot of unpaid work. You know I don’t roll out of bed for anything less than ten silver.”

“Oh, I heard you’ll warm any bed for half of that.” Rude. That guy really does have one **_damn_ **punchable face. Derisive laughter breaks out among the group. Who needs fear when you have something to be pissed off at?

Sage’s growl is so low and deep, I feel it first. It’s like a predator. He flashes a dangerous smile, really more of a snarl.

“I could always kick your asses for free. How’s that for a deal?”

His eyes literally flash red. I can practically feel a simmering.

“Maybe we tell your old pack where you been hidin’ instead.” 

Does this asshole _ever_ learn when to shut up? Either of them?

“Heh, those rabid freaks’ll pay well for your head.”

“Watch your back, fleabag!” The mostly-fingerless Syd yells, trying to get the last word in. The lot leaves in a rush, however, _metaphorical_ tails between their legs. Sage’s expression is still unsettling, smile unwavering. His eyes shift to me. They really do glow a _lurid_ crimson. I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s too much rage and pain in those eyes, and I freeze, mentally shrinking in on myself. A moment of remorse overtakes the anger, and everything softens to the way it was before.

“Sage? W—What… was that?”

“Just a pack of scat-for-brain bastards.” He avoids my question. “Forget ‘em. How’re you holding up?”

“Still in one piece. Thanks for that.”

He pushes off the wall. I feel the loss of warmth instantly, reminded again of the transitional season. I use the opportunity to straighten myself again, and cut to the chase.

“I’m here with Anisa and Felix. We came here looking for you.”

His ears flick. I can’t tell if he’s relieved or annoyed.

“Felix and Anisa came here? For me? Tch, idiots.” He loops a thumb on his belt, and half starts addressing the ceiling. “May as well have doused themselves in blood and sat on a cockatrice’s nest.”

“That, I’m assuming, is a _bad_ idea.”

The look he shoots me is quizzical. Guess it’s safe to assume everyone knows to _not_ douse themselves in blood in a cockatrice’s nest. “Nevermind, let’s find those two fools.”

Turning on his heel, he heads straight for the main hall. I pick up my pace to keep with his longer strides. This is bizarre, yet somehow the more people around me treat it as mundane the more I start to feel it as such. All the more reason to figure out exactly what I’m in for, ASAP.

“Something bothering you?” Sage asks.

“More like a million somethings.” 

I push past him into the main room, not giving him a chance to reply. The rabble had been cleaned out, leaving only Anisa, Felix, and the inscrutable bartender. Felix sips at a wine glass, only to sputter and point a finger at the implacable tender of bars.

“You call this a Porriman red? More like a Denebian swamp water. Notes of lichen.”

The bartender remains unperturbed. Felix takes yet another swig, and makes yet another grimace. Nearby Anisa is cleaning her sword off a man’s tunic. To my eyes, he’s not overtly injured, so hopefully his unconsciousness is due to sleep. Sage clears his throat, attracting their attention. Anisa is the first to speak.

“Sage! And you’ve found Perri. Perfect.”

“More like she found me.” 

Anisa assesses his appearance. They must not have seen each other in a long while.

“What happened to your face? Have you forgotten how to block—or parry?”

Sage sheds Anisa’s reach, brushing off her comments. Felix gives a lazy salute, then addresses me.

“Excellent job. Take a seat. Have a drink. I suggest you refrain from ordering the wine, it’s dreadful.”

I scoff.

“Then why are you still drinking it?”

“If it isn’t my favorite wee manchild!” Sage cuts in with a teasing smirk. He throws an arm around the short mage, ruffling Felix’s dark hair, warranting a yelp. He squirms free from Sage’s grasp. “You’re certainly looking hale for a necromancer.”

Felix’s sharp glare is betrayed by his red ears and frantic attempt to straighten his hair. 

“And you look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet.”

Sage cants his head to the side. The twitch of his ears belays confusion. I sigh, and lean towards him.

“That was either an insult or innuendo and I place my bets on the former.”

Felix turns an embarrassingly _offended_ shade of red.

“Innuendo—!?”

Sage laughs. “I’d put my money on insult too. Figures.” He shifts away from me. “I’m told you two were looking for me. Why?”

“Just look at us. The last Starsworn, gathered once again. Leader would be so proud” Anisa begins. “I want to start off by stating the obvious. Felix, you’re a prodigy, truly…”

“Annie, you flatter me.”

“But how did you mess up a summoning this—this catastrophically!? You’ve always been sloppy, but this is a new low, even for you.” Ouch. Wrecked. “Honestly, I can’t even fathom how you failed this badly.”

“I— It was a mistake—A miscalculation… or perhaps divine intervention? You’ve scolded me plenty!”

“What did he do this time?” Sage asks.

“Got me on a one way ticket through the void.” I reply. The merc looks at me, then back to the mage.

“You _brought_ Perri here!?”

I start rubbing my temples again. “Is this really the place to be discussing this out loud?”

Anisa steps between the two men.

“I agree. I’d prefer if we discussed this interloper business in private. We can use my office. Come.”

“But I haven’t yet finished my wine!”

In the doorway Anisa cuts at the necromancer with a cool glare. He downs it with a hasty gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue leaves a little less wiggle room to let the protagonist stretch, particularly more introverted types, but thanks to the first person perspective, hopefully she's starting to come out. Specifically as someone who thinks she can talk her way out of a situation (Keyword: thinks). This was awfully fun to do, if mainly because the events at the Gull are much more adventuring than the other portions of the prologue.
> 
> Also going through the prologue again post December 2020 update, the lack of Felix's Cheeky Chameleon line is criminal. And though I'm so happy they're playing up Anisa's badassery, they'd better keep her an awkward mess at heart.


	4. A Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon having a meeting of Starsworn, expect bickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we reach the end of the prologue.

The night air was crisp and cool. My poor head continued to throb. Perhaps the walk back to Anisa’s office was uneventful, and took the same streets as the way to The Saucy Gull, but I was adamantly taking everything in, mini-quest completed. Mournfall is quiet at night—like any town I suppose. The streets are cobblestone and winding like an old-world city, ignoring my American penchant grid layouts. Despite the lack of nightlife in this district, it was still illuminated on the main roads by gentle street lamps and stars. It’s been a long while since I’ve really been able to see stars with any clarity. And never so many...

“Perri?”

It was Anisa. I hadn’t realized I stopped. Had I really lived in a modern city long enough to obsess over some collapsing masses of hydrogen gas? Eh, probably.

“Sorry!” I jog to catch up.

“Is everything alright?” Anisa looks concerned. It’s sweet.

“Yeah, uh, just taking in the view.” I twirl my fingers upward. The stars  _ are _ nice tonight, now that the earlier storm from my arrival has vanished without a trace. 

Felix quirks a brow.

“You make it seem as if your realm doesn’t have stars.”

“Oh, we do. We do…” I just haven’t seen them through the light pollution in the past couple years.

I let the conversation lull. Anisa, Felix, and Sage weren’t in a talking mood for most of the walk anyway, probably finally having a moment to process what’s going on. Making sure to not fall behind this time, I pick up the pace. 

The fire is still crackling in Anisa’s study, yet the atmosphere may be even icier than it was outside. Because they now have to address the elephant in the room:  _ me _ . Leaning on the side of an armchair I shed Anisa’s cloak and kept my arms folded underneath it. 

I catch Sage tracking me with an unreadable look. When I turn my head his way he looks away.

“So, we’ve Felix to thank for this mess.” He crosses his arms and sneers. “Seems all that mucking around with spirits finally made him soft in the head.”

Oh boy. Felix’s jaw goes slack. Anisa shoots Sage a downright ominous glare.

“Oh, don’t get me started on you too, Sage. I’ll have you know your name’s popped up in my incident reports more than once. For brawling!”

Looks like it’s going to be one of  _ those _ reunions. 

Sage gives a lazy shrug, but his tail violently waves to and fro.

“What can I say? Never could resist a good fight.”

“Except for when the fight matters. Have both of you lost your godsdamned minds?” Anisa mutters, trying to keep her gestures restrained and curt, but her brow twitches.

Felix has taken to using Anisa’s desk as a seat, resting his chin on knuckles. He looks off at nothing in particular, and sighs. When he speaks next, he doesn’t even move.

“Cut him some slack. It’s been five years, Annie… Five years since he showed his true colours, turned tail and fled.” Oh.  _ Oh snap _ . “Our last stand might not have been so final had he stayed.”

This is not the conversation I want to be here for. Is it even appropriate for me to be hearing this?

Sage’s eyes narrow.

“What difference does one man make in a war? More likely I’d be dead just like—”

“Quiet! Don’t you dare say his name!” Felix’s voice is razor sharp. It hangs in the air, threatening. Sage bows his head, deferential, but far from apologetic.

“Blame me or blame your gods. It won’t change the past.” His ears flick. “Why have you brought us here?”

I guess that’s my cue to get this conversation back on track.

“I was wondering that too. Why gather together like this? What specifically can the three of you do that one or two couldn’t?”

“There is strength in numbers. I suppose three heads are better than two.” Anisa says. 

There’s a scoff.

“Oh, I don’t know. I imagine Sage has already lowered our collective intelligence.” 

“Care to say that to my face, half pint?”

Felix clambers upright up with a scowl. Sage wears the ghost of a smile. Anisa looks ready to jump back in herself. I stand corrected from my earlier assessment. A single brain cell is shared between the **_three_** of them. My head throbs.

“Get. To the point.  _ Please _ .”

The mage sighs.

“It is high time I revealed why I’ve gathered you all here tonight.” 

He staring at me with such intensity a chill runs down my spine. Shifting away from the desk he raises a hand in my direction. It starts to hum with a golden, musical, energy. The frequency is so low I know for a fact I shouldn’t be able to hear it at all. His wrist flicks. There’s a sudden warmth in my heart. The sensation is foreign, its strength overwhelming, so I can barely tell if it’s pleasant or painful. A panic attack was the closest feeling I had to compare. I look down. From my chest radiates a faint, pulsing light.

“W—What!?”

Sage and Anisa look on, faces painted with shock. The glow ebbs, but the warmth takes longer to disperse. The humming fades, but instead of regaining my full range of sound I mostly hear my blood pounding and a lingering tinnitus.

“A Relic has taken up residence within your heart. Like it or not, you’re one of us now.”

Uh, hold up.

“A—A what?” He said that word earlier, in the ruins. It sounds like a  _ parasite _ . “How does it even get in there!?”

“A Relic is a legendary magical weapon” Anisa provides. “Ordinarily, Relics seek out wielders skilled in both might and magic. But for one to cross realms in search of a heart… How?”

_ Why _ ?

Great. I  _ am  _ an impossible girl. Shall I make interdimensional soufflés just for extra flair? I look to Felix hoping he might have a more assuring statement.

“Who can say. The gods are fickle.”

I ask for too much.

“Did you recognize her Relic, Felix?”

He flinches at Anisa’s question, refusing to make eye contact.

“...N—No, I’m afraid not.”

A terrible liar. 

Anisa continues to voice her thoughts, careful enough to add extra exposition for me.

“In any case, this just solidifies the fact that Perri needs a guardian. Someone to teach her about the world of Astraea and protect her… Perhaps this is fate. Relics are founts of ancient magic.” An idea hits her. She slams a fist into her open palm. “What if we trained Perri? Perhaps she could harness that power to travel home.” 

Well, that's... something. The knight is practically beaming. Sage, not so much.

“You two do as you will. Count me out.” With a grumble, the sellsword starts for the door. 

“Running away already?” Anisa blocks his path. “Perri must first choose. She deserves that much.”

I’m thankful for the consideration, truly.

“I appreciate it, Anisa.” I shoot a crooked smile.

Sage freezes. There’s apprehension in his eyes. 

“I’ll have no part in this. Fates or gods be damned, I’m not the teaching type.” Sage's tail swishes as he speaks. “I chose to leave that life behind.”

“Would you do it for money?” I blurt. 

Sage pauses, leaning against the nearest table. He doesn’t look totally convinced, but he isn’t bailing either. Slowly, he grins at me.

“Well, Perri. I’m listening. Name your price.”

In the words of Jack Sparrow,  _ good man _ . 

Except—I’m broke.

“How’s this?” Felix flips a gold coin, which Sage catches flawlessly. Feline eyes flicker between it and the mage, incredulous.

“Just one gold? How very Velan of you. This hardly covers a single night’s stay even in this hole.”

“Fine, take my pocket change.”

With an exasperated sigh, Felix reveals a large, embroidered pouch from one of his inner jacket pockets, complete with tell-tale jangle of coin. He tosses the whole thing at the sellsword. After feeling the weight in his hand, Sage gives a wide grin.

“Atta boy, Felix. Knew you had it in you.” He then nods to me and winks. “I already know Perri’s gonna pick me.”

“Uh, wait what? Hold up…”

Anisa lets out a groan, clearly disapproving of the whole transaction. “Felix just bribed you to be here, Sage.” Her look softens on me. “You should pick someone you feel a connection to, Perri. You don’t have to decide right now. And don’t worry about hurt feelings. We’ll all support you regardless.”

“Speak for yourself” the mage says, regaining his cocky tone. 

“Got other plans? Didn’t know someone with no friends could be so busy.” Ouch, Sage.

“I have friends! And I didn’t have to buy them either.”

“Perri’s already learning so much about us. Wonderful.” Anisa sighs. “We’ll give you as much information as you need to help with your decision.”

This single-night decision only happens to affect me getting home,  _ no biggie _ . I run a hand down my face. The tea Anisa gave me earlier was hardly black enough for a dark night like this.

“I think this qualifies as the strangest job interview I’ve ever given.” Though to be fair, I’ve only been on the applicant end anyway. “Fine. Alright—I’d like to know more about you, Anisa.”

“Well, I am a decorated knight. I may not be as well versed in magic as Felix, but my fencing skills are top notch. And I do suppose I am a great deal more dependable than these two as well. There is that.” She flashes me a knowing smile, and I’m sure I’m nodding my head in agreement. “But you should know I’ve many pressing matters at hand. I can protect you as your guardian, but only if you accompany me on my knight lieutenant duties. They can be dangerous… Though I suppose all of Astraea will be dangerous for you right now.”

“You’re not making this sound very pleasant,” Felix adds.

I shake my head, hands on my hips.

“I’m still processing the fact I need a guardian at my age.”

“But I can protect you, Perri. That I swear. Knight’s honor, if you remember.” She gives me a grin, eyes twinkling. She seems like the most rounded option, and I don’t doubt she will keep her word. But it’s only been a few hours. I’m not sure if it’s the bad first impression, but I sense a tensity in her otherwise friendly manner.

“So. Tell me about yourself, Felix.”

Felix clears his throat and straightens his shoulders.

“I am not one to brag, but as you’ve no doubt noticed I’m the strongest spellslinger here. I’m the youngest inductee in Starsworn history, a master necromancer, voidwalker, polyglot, adept…”

“More like inept” Sage grumbles. Felix continues rambling, oblivious to the peanut gallery. Very oblivious. I’m aware I’m not schooling my expressions _ in the slightest  _ as I look to the other two. They’re just waiting for the triade to be over. I don’t think I even understood half the jargon he just used. 

“... once bound an infernal godling into a house cat. I am simply unmatched when it comes to magical prowess.”

I may have missed a majority of what he said. But he’s obviously learned, and knows more about my situation than the rest. 

“So getting me home after accidentally summoning me here should be child’s play, right?”

He’s silent for a long moment. Averting his eyes, he’s trying  _ too _ hard to be nonchalant as if I said nothing at all. But his blush betrays him. Still, too many pieces about him are missing...

“Alrighty, Sage. You’re up. Why should I pick you?”

“You could pick Felix if you’re feeling bold. He’s as likely to immolate you as he is to instruct you.”

“That happened once!”

Christ.

“And Anisa—”

Anisa stares at Sage with a chilling, rictus smile. He scratches the back of his neck. Lord, do I want to know?

“Look, when it comes to kickin’ ass and cracking skulls, I’ve got ‘em both beat.” He shrugs. “Eh, pick however you want. So long as I’m being compensated, I care not.”

So, choose Sage to learn to kick ass. I’ll admit that’s a pretty tempting sell, if kinda missing the whole point of why I need a guide. If nothing else, he’s far from boring, and straightforward. He’s also clearly going to be a trouble magnet. I’ve taken to sitting on the arm of the chair, ankles crossed.

This was  _ definitely  _ not in my weekend itinerary.

Another  _ world _ . Felix said it could potentially be years, but I  _ refuse  _ to let it be so long. I need to focus on the tools to get me home as fast as possible… But if I am here for some undefined amount of time, what do I need to know to not be tossed around like a ragdoll? I have only glimpses of this world, but that barbrawl doesn’t make me feel like this is a place for me to wander aimlessly. Not with my current skill set.

I know Anisa said it could wait but...

My gaze drifts to the fire. It’s  _ fire  _ that warms and illuminates this room. If the few lamps I saw were not fueled by magic, they were likey kerosene. What else could be different? 

If I was my dad, I’d focus on what needs to be done first and foremost.

If I was my mom, I’d make a choice and deal with consequences as they come.

I sigh, letting my shoulders slump.

And me? Me—I don’t know  _ jack shit _ .

I clap my hands. I’m tired of people staring at me in silence.

“Alright pretty boy. You’re up.” 

There’s a beat. I hold my open palms in Felix’s direction. 

“P-pretty boy!?”

“You said yourself you’re the ‘best spellslinger’, right? Magic brought me here. Magic should be able to do the reverse.” It’s the most prudent choice. “Plus you said you’d work on getting me home anyway. If the point of me learning how to do… whatever  _ this  _ is… is to get me home, it overlaps.”

“Ah. Well, you’ve made a wise decision.”

But...

“I do have one thing I’d like to add though, if you two” I point at Sage and Anisa, “would be willing to consider it.”

Anisa responds first. “What do you need?”

“I don’t know anything about this world. And I’d rather not find myself in another situation like at the Gull.” I track the firelight in the corner of my eye, vision fixed on nothing in particular. “I don’t expect to be some martial arts master, but if you think it’s worth picking up any extra skills while I’m here, I’ll do it.”

“Hmm, well lucky for you it’s my payday.” Sage grins. Anisa also looks to mull it over, approving.

“That sounds like a good idea. Not everyone takes to magic easily, so it would be good to have a contingency.”

“Besides,” I continue, “I don’t want to add too much burden on either of you. Or Felix. If handling me is spread out a bit I think things will be less trouble for all of you.”

“But what about you? Are you certain it won’t be too much?”

I daresay I almost forgot my headache.

I feel my face form a tired smirk.

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse. Give me your best shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we've reached the end of the prologue, I hope to expand with my own scenes, as well as mixing and matching elements from the different routes. This is all quite the experiment for me, so let's see how it goes. ;)
> 
> Now with that December update Anisa seems a bit more miffed at Sage in general. Combined with the lack of Anisa content (lord, we're down a single chapter, ugh), I feel a mighty need to see more of their dynamic.


	5. A New Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon having your first morning in a new world, expect breakfast and bad planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally leaving the prologue, I am attempting to combine elements from all the routes, though not everything will blend together smoothly. Writing will also start to take more time. At the moment, expect updates to be sporadic now that I am beginning to create additional elements.
> 
> (12/4/2020: I debated whether to keep this chapter or not due to the Anisa re-write. But her new mission in chapter could still be pushed to a more ambiguous time frame, so I think this can still work.)

“—It all depends on Perri.”

It always does, doesn’t it? Can’t they handle their own gruntwork? It’s not like I’m fresh-out-of-uni; I should be working the room... 

I hear Felix sigh.

...Oh,  _ wait _ .

I must have dozed off. That explains why my neck is stretched in uncomfortable areas. I hope nobody saw that. I  _ was _ trying to pay attention to the conversation, seeing as I am the central topic. They mostly talked around me though, considering all the obtuse arcane babble. Curling up in an armchair with Anisa’s cloak over my person certainly didn’t make consciousness any easier. I scan the room, praying my lapse in wakefulness escaped notice. It did not. Feline eyes crinkle in amusement.

“Why are you grinning like a fool, Sage? Have you concocted some brilliant plan?” the mage speaks, “Or are you simply making eyes at our newest inductee?”

Sage’s grin becomes wolfish.

“I was thinking this is just like the good old days. You, screwing something up. The rest of us scrambling to mop up your mistakes…” Felix’s smile falters. “You’re the expert on magic, Felix. Why don’t you use that fancy education of yours and figure something out.”

_ Another _ argument is about to break out. I might wind up  _ dreaming _ of their bickering if this keeps up. Anisa cuts in.

“Enough! I swear, sometimes you two carry on like a pair of greedy seagulls squabbling over a discarded bread crust.” 

It barely mollifies the two, each finding some inanimate part of the room to glower at.

“I’m assuming this is typical?” I ask her.

“Now you see what I’ve had to deal with for years.”

Felix bristles.

“For crying out—You are in no position to hold such a holier-than-thou attitude, Annie.” He smirks. “I recall a certain night when we had to talk you out of starting a fist fight over a clutch of gryphon eggs.”

“I—We agreed never to speak of that again!” Anisa looks downright offended. Now that is an adventure I’d like to hear about, but the knight is adamant to keep the conversation about something else. “Perri, you are welcome to stay here as my honored guest. You may sleep here, in my office. No one will bother you.”

“And where are we banal guests supposed to sleep?”

“The Saucy Gull  _ is  _ still open.” The knight is clearly still salty about Felix’s earlier sass.

“You don’t truly expect me to sleep in that rat infested pigsty!?”

Sage comes up to drape an arm over Felix’s narrow shoulders, clearly amused at the prospect of the scholar having to stay in such a dingy hole.

“Come now, the Gull’s not so bad.”

“Oh, spare me, I’ve seen you sleep face down in a gutter!” Shoving the arm off of him, Felix straightens his jacket, probably feeling increasingly offended the more he thinks of that particular tavern. “We’ll resume this discussion tomorrow.”

He turns on his heel and leaves. Sage offers an apologetic shrug, before following the mage’s cue.

“Try and get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

I give a nod.

“Good night.”

Rummaging around the room, Anisa provides me with piles of blankets and a cushion. Once she completely internalizes her interdimensional guest would be sleeping on a couch, she sends a string of apologies. 

“It’s fine, Anisa. I’ve slept on the floor dozens of times before. A couch won’t kill me.”

The fire is doused, my hostess leaves, and I curl up as tightly as possible. I know the heat will dissipate soon enough, so it’s best to fall asleep soon. Besides, it might kill my headache. My bones ache, and my muscles have a lingering burn. Are the effects of jumping between realms finally hitting me?

One would think the tiredness would make it easier to drift, but instead it’s rattling my brain. This strange limbo of sleep and non-sleep continues for an unknown period of time. At one point I heard footsteps stopping short outside the study. Maybe if I fall asleep, all this will all melt away. I’ll roll out of bed, shaking off a strangely vivid dream.

I was wrong, at least partially. 

The room was blue, as before the dawn strikes. Out of habit, my eyes searched for a glowing display to check the time. There was none—my heart skipped. I hit the floor. Hard. It was cold. I automatically reached for a blanket and slung it over my shoulders.

Dreams don’t feel like  _ this _ . I haven’t even remembered a proper dream since I was a student.

Good thing I was alone. On a good day, I prefer lonely mornings. But this… I need to decompress. This felt heavy.  _ I _ felt heavy—too heavy to move.

I heard the soft click of a door, and very gentle footsteps, clearly trying to keep to the rugs whenever possible. Anisa rounded the side of the couch. Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Oh, Perri, you’re awake.” She rests a knee on the ground beside me. “Why are you on the floor?” 

“Mmm. Because it’s morning.” 

I looked at the pale ceiling, now dyed yellow. Had the light really changed that quickly? Or did I just lose the time moping?

“I came to check on you. Would you like some breakfast? I can have something brought here.”

My stomach hurts. When was the last time I ate anyway? Was it that cafe, with the ginger milk?

The one back on Earth. 

“Breakfast sounds good… Also...” What’s the right word...? “Is there a privy?”

Fortunately, plumbing exists. Considering Mournfall is a supposed backwater (in Felix’s words), this is a good sign for the rest of this universe. I honestly expected, and feared, a garderobe. Set your standards low, and you’ll never be disappointed, only pleasantly surprised. I sigh, and glance out a window on my way back to the study. There’s a whole new world out there. I’m supposed to feel excited, right? Then again, I was spirited away. Just because people are typically excited for a European vacation doesn’t mean they’ll feel the same being gagged, bagged, and waking up on a train to Prague.

One step at a time, Miss B.

Or just set your standards very, very, low.

“Good morning, Perri. Impressed to see you’ve retained your corporeal form.” Again in the study, Felix is seated at a small table now adorned with some very tempting looking food. Sage is close behind, completing the Starsworn set from last night.

Because last night actually  _ happened _ .

“Right back at you, Felix. You’re looking as firm and fit as yesterday.” I can feel the vocal fry deep in my larynx. My voice does not like to be used before 8:30.

Felix buffers, lost for an immediate retort. Sage snickers.

“You should tease me instead. Felix blushes too easily.”

“I do not blush easily.”

He says, whilst blushing.

“Morning to you too, Sage. Please tell me there’s tea. Or coffee.”

The knight-lieutenant reorganizes her desk as she speaks. It has significantly more paperwork than I recall, not that I was counting every sheet when I crash landed.

“Of course. If you require more hot water for the tea I can always put on the kettle again.” She eyes the scene, exhaling sharply. “Especially since there seem to be more mouths than expected.”

I plop down in the seat opposite of Felix. A cuppa would be very welcome right now, and fortunately it looks to be the same blend from last night. The mage pushes a small basket of assorted pastries towards me.

“I did not come empty-handed. Which is more than some in this room can say.” He swats Sage’s hand from the goods, though it’s clear Sage wasn’t trying that hard. The attempt was probably for his own amusement.

“You can’t expect me to start having these kinds of conversations on an empty stomach.”

“And I was under the impression you had been served one of those rats at the Gull. You certainly had the coin for it last night.”

I pour a cup of tea, and wonder if they actually  _ did _ spend the night at that dump.

“Can we get down to business already? I’m assuming we’ve all got things to do.” Though I’d rather have a morning staring at the ceiling in silence for a few hours. I gesture at an empty cup when Felix looks my way, and pour him tea as well. “Is there anything else I need? Should I be signing a permission slip?” 

Anisa already seems to have her own cup on her desk.

“No, but I assume Felix has already started to consider your lessons?”

“But of course. Though if she is to be effectively living in your study we will likely need to use it for much of the day.”

“Very well. If any of my books are useful, they’re open to you.” She exhales. I pass a pastry to Sage. “We may be divided on how to proceed, but one thing is clear. Perri must learn how to summon her Relic. We’ll also need to take time for her other lessons.”

Geez, I’m a student again. And I won’t even get a masters out of it. But on the bright side, it’s free. Sage cants his head and leans in my direction.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t do for you to be cooped up inside all day with him.” He jabs a thumb in Felix’s direction. 

The mage scoffs.

“Yes, because whatever you have to offer is going to be so incredibly useful.”

As luck would have it, I don’t need to school my expressions today. My face is already dead as I look on, unamused. I take a bite of a pastry. Is that  _ boysenberry _ ? 

“At least people don’t fall asleep when I talk,” Sage throws back.

I snort a little into my teacup. Okay, that was a good one even if he did throw me under the bus. “Is this how you attract students? By calling them out?” I think I’m smiling a little when I say that.

Felix looked offended. The sellsword meanwhile seems even more confident in continuing on.

“I don’t blame you. Once Felix starts babbling on about magic and augury… Hells, I was nodding off myself.”

The subject in question is about to retort, but I beat him to it.

“I dunno. I think it’s all very interesting. We don’t have any magic on Earth.”

“Truly? Nothing at all?” Felix asks. I lean back in my seat.

“Not to my knowledge, no. It only exists in belief. A belief most in the mainstream shed after age ten.”

“And what of you? What are your beliefs on magic?”

“I believe it’s a great way to get rich in Las Vegas.” Now there’s an idea if these magic lessons translate back on Earth. “And—” I point around the table, teacup still in hand, “And before anybody starts, no, I did not believe in the sort of magic you’re asking about.”

“Despite all that’s just happened?” Considering his incredulous look, I probably just stepped on the mage’s metaphorical toes.

“ _ Yes _ . Because we’re referring to  _ Earth _ . And I had no evidence for it as a  _ thing  _ there beyond old wives’ tales. But as far as this world’s concerned, fine. Sure. Whatever. I’ve seen the evidence.” Hell, I  _ am _ the evidence. “If this all turns out to be some elaborate hoax, however, I’m recanting my belief in magic again.”

Sage quirks a brow. “That easy?”

“That easy. I like evidence. And logic. And not having to use my head this early in the morning.” I slurp my tea audibly to punctuate the end of this discussion. Besides, eating these eggs is easier when I’m not debating something. Tuning them out, they start going over something else.

Hell’s bells, am I really going to be studying  _ magic _ of all things? I take another look outside. The sun has put the morn in full swing, warming the room and letting me get a good look at all the greenery beyond this tower. Maybe this won’t be so terrible. I’ve a world to see, impossible things to learn, and despite the necromancer’s assurances this isn't Hell, I’ve got three Virgils to my Dante. It’s starting to feel like when I first graduated all over again. I’m lost and have no idea what I’m doing, but a part of me is excited nonetheless. 

A rustling thump steals me from my thoughts. Anisa drops a stack of papers onto her desk. Sage and Felix look up, startled from their conversation.

“These are the morning reports. Ordinarily, they’re a page or two long.” Her brow twitches, and she sends the two men a withering glare. Fingers drum atop a tall stack. “Today, I have dozens of reports from last night. Tales of curses, spirits run rampant, even…” she clears her throat before reading from a selected file, “ _ Foul Skellingtons were roaming the streets in the moonlight _ .”

I blink.

“Skellington?” As in the  _ Pumpkin King _ ? I swear to God—

“Indeed, what in the hundred hells is a skellington?” asks Felix.

“...I think they’re like regular skeletons... but bonier…” Sage adds, wholly unhelpful.

Anisa lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Tell me, Felix. As our resident necromancer, does any of this sound familiar to you?”

Felix folds his arms, the very visage of a child scorned.

“Allegedly, I roused an army of bloody  _ skellingtons _ last night to raze this godsforsaken swamp. Do you truly believe I am to blame for this outrageous and frankly unimaginative gossip?”

She narrows her eyes. She’s going in for the kill.

“You used necromancy to summon someone from another realm.” She closes her eyes. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” 

A thought hits me.

“Could there have been any—I don’t know,  _ side effects _ of Felix’s spell? He already nabbed me, so clearly things were already screwy.”

“Side effects? Hmmm, yes, magic is akin to making an omelette…” he mulls. 

“Wh—?” Sage looks ready to quit now.

“But I can assure you that my spell was contained to the temple alone.” Felix continues, “I take no responsibility for any screeching abominations or so-called skellingtons haunting the streets. The locals will forget about this incident ere long and return to thinking of fish, or nets, or both.”

“You may not give two damns, but you mustn’t forget the nightmare this town survived five years ago.” Straightening her back, she rests a hand on her hip, where her scabbard would normally be. “As Starsworn, we owe these people the benefit of the doubt, no?”

That’s right. Last night she had mentioned a final stand.

Something big enough to wipe out a trained, presumably  _ super-powered  _ order of fighters.

Was that why that temple I woke in was a ruin? Admittedly I didn’t get a good look, but thinking back it didn’t give me ancient, rotting, vibes.

Five years… Didn’t Felix also mention—

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?” Sage asks Anisa.

“If there’s even a small chance someone is tinkering with dark magic… We have a responsibility to stop them.” She sighs. “Gods know we’re better equipped to deal with aspiring necromancers than the town guard.” Everyone takes a cursory glance at Felix.

“ _ We _ ? And what would you have me do? Ask them politely to desist?”

“Have you tried? You’ll be surprised how far you can get by asking someone nicely.” I quip. Because it worked so nicely for  _ myself  _ at The Saucy Gull...

Sage cracks his knuckles with a toothy grin.

“Or we can always knock ‘em out.”

Anisa shakes her head vehemently. 

“You can’t solve all your problems by punching them!”

“Worked so far,” he laughs.

I suppose you can’t raise the dead when you yourself are blacked out in a ditch. Not that I condone that sort of behavior or anything. I shift in my seat.

“Do you need anything, Anisa? I don’t know much, but I’m willing to help out if I can.” This bunch, despite their clear tendency towards trouble, has already helped me out a bunch. They could have just left me out on the streets. Hell, Anisa could have  _ skewered  _ me the instant I hit her desk. Might as well lighten the burden if I can. 

“I hope you haven’t forgotten we need to get started on your lessons. Considering your situation, magic naturally should take priority” Felix says. I click my tongue. 

“Oh, yeah.” 

He’s got a point.

Anisa looks thoughtful, hand on her chin.

“Maybe you can kill two birds with one stone. You’ll probably want to take a look at the Lakeshore Library for beginner’s spell books. If you have the time, you can check their collection for any errant references to dark magic. I’m told the town youngsters get up to all sorts of mischief. Perhaps the disturbances were some amateur magician’s fumbling.”

“Ok, sounds good.” I look towards the sellsword. “Will Sage be coming with us or…?”

I let the words trail off. His ears flick.

“You expect  _ me _ to read? I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Felix gives a derisive snort.

“I should hope you would begin with the first page. Perhaps the Table of Contents?”

“Night help me, I’ll throttle him before lunch.”

Anisa cuts in.

“Actually, I think Sage and I should do investigating around town.” Despite the grumbling around the room, she is practically beaming. “Ah, this already feels just like the old days. I’ll check with Captain Barani first.”

I nod, and start to look for my jacket, draped on the arm of the couch. It’s still got the Mickey Mouse pin Anisa spotted when she realized where I was from. As everyone readies to leave, I turn to the group.

“Uh, guys... How  _ okay  _ is my outfit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter draws mostly from a combination of Sage's and (the old) Anisa's first chapters, because Felix's skips straight to five days later, and I would like to focus more on mundane interactions, minor details you might miss out on some routes, and daily "oh shit I'm in a whole new world Aladdin ain't got nothing on this".
> 
> Also, thank God for toilets.


	6. A Cryptic Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon finding a discarded book, expect coded messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This draws predominantly from events in Anisa's route, with a heavy focus on more mundane interactions with our local necromancer.
> 
> (2020/12/7: Considering the new revelations about Anisa and how they've been revealed in her rewritten chapter, I debated on if I should even keep this, particularly the ending. In the end, I think it can still fit, though if anything major changes I might come back and spruce it up again to keep consistency.)

It’s been established that I stand out. Usually I’d take that as a badge of pride, but there  _ is _ more than one way to stand out and unfortunately wearing otherworldly clothes is not the smartest one. I’ve taken to doning Anisa’s long cloak from the previous night. Fortunately the day is relatively cool to start, but I can already tell by afternoon it will be warm enough to regret my life.

“No, no, I’ll be fine.” I’ve suffered more for a cute yet weather-challenged outfit. “We don’t need to have a full on shopping spree this instant, come back, change, and then run out again. It can wait.” If anything, I’m half-worried my look is downright basic compared to their JRPG looking attire. I call this look ‘ _ NPC _ ’.

“You certainly can’t go around wearing the same outfit day in and out” Felix states.

“Trust me man, I agree.” I really hope I don’t sweat too bad in this today. “But it seems more  _ efficient  _ to make a loop and not be bringing a bunch of extra crap to a library. We should plan out which stops we’re making so we’re not wasting time running around.”

Oh my God. I sound like my  _ dad _ . 

He sighs, scrutinizing my image.

“Very well. With the cloak you’re not  _ too  _ unusual in appearance.” 

“I can work with mildly unusual. If anyone asks, tell them the truth.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

“ _ The truth _ ?” 

“That I’m  _ foreign _ .”

I grin as we walk down the hall. Anisa and Sage had left but a few minutes before, though not without the lady knight promising to find me something to wear whenever she can. I can tell she would have just offered her own closet to start, but she’s notably taller than me, and the most conspicuous item of clothing that wasn’t a removable accessory were unfortunately my pants—so basically the half of the outfit I actually need to fit. Wearing her clothes barely held with a belt might make me look even more suspicious. This extra long cloak is just going to have to do.

“So in addition to the library books, is there anything on my school supply list?”

“There are a few things we should acquire for you eventually, though for the moment what I currently have will suffice. We’ll focus mostly on basic supplies.”

I have no idea what’s considered  _ basic _ . Presumably candles. For extra hilarity I silently hope it’s paired with rose petals.

The light outside is bright, so I shield my eyes. It must be late spring, or early summer here. Assuming time flows in synchronization, then their dates land differently. Or perhaps this has been the southern hemisphere the whole time. I follow Felix’s lead. Mournfall is, well, kinda cute. Annoyance of winding, non-gridded streets aside, it’s a change of pace from the tall city buildings I had been staring at for the past few years. It wasn’t a metropolis, but I could tell quickly from the manner of the people that it was plenty more than my tiny rural hometown where everyone knows you and your dog. Mournfall was the middling sort. With extra fish.

“Ope—!”

I catch myself before I land face first on the flagstones. Nobody said I was graceful.

“Do you always wander about wide-eyed?”

“Not at all. Eyes on the side of the head are for prey animals, and I very much eat meat.”

Nobody said I was scathingly witty either. Maybe I  _ am  _ my dad. Felix, blessedly, does not push on my bad attempt at ‘intelligent humor’.

“You were gawking about the town last night as well. This assortment of fishmongers can hardly be that impressive.”

“You’re saying that interdimensional travel is  _ un _ impressive?”

“No—However, there are many more interesting sites in Astraea to be astonished by than this sleepy backwater.”

“Ah, well maybe the fact it’s quaint is what makes it interesting.” I look around for anything to make my case. “Like that street over there. The one with the steps by the waterway.”

“It’s stairs that catch your eye?” He quirks a brow. I do the same, if partially in a sense of challenge.

“We’d never build streets like that. My country was built around certain forms of transportation, which need to take up the street. Stairs in the middle of one would be torn up by the city council and there would be much rejoicing from the taxpayers. Streets aren’t meant for pedestrians. It’s an easy way to wind up in the hospital or with a nasty fine.” I cross my arms, a little too pleased to be in lecture mode again. “Different, ain’t it?”

“Then I can only wonder what your response would be to other locales in Astraea.”

Right. As if I have plans to go gallivanting around Astraea…

“Well, then I’ll let you design my next itinerary.” Quickly I move ahead of him. This isn’t a vacation in the Italian countryside. “And first stop is the library.”

The conversation lulled after that. What  _ do _ you talk about with the person who kinda-sorta-accidentally-kidnapped you but without a second thought tried to correct it? There’s just too much for my mind to unpack. In the end, nobody  _ has  _ to help me. It’s the right thing to do, of course, especially considering it was his spell after all, but still… Any of one of the three could have just dumped me somewhere. Even Sage could have just refused pay. Lady Luck must be smiling on me.

But that doesn’t make my first casual one-to-one time with any of them less strange.

It’s like meeting a celebrity, minus the fame. You’re awkward, and have no idea if you’re annoying or if someone should break the silence or—

“So, what precisely  _ is _ the form of transport you mentioned?” Hearing his voice I look at Felix. I think a bird flew past before I processed what he was asking. “You talked of your streets earlier.”

“Oh, yeah. We call those cars. Think of them as ‘horseless carriages’.” I hate myself for using the most cliché comparison imaginable. However, the comparison is effective.

“And this is done entirely without magic?” He voice was skeptical. Maybe he interpreted my lack of magical belief back home as a challenge?

“Not a lick. They use an internal combustion engine. The energy of the heat reaction propels the pistons and, uh, whatever inside the car, which turns the wheels. Then  **_voilà_ ** ! You’ve been slapped with a fine and court date for going too fast in a school zone.”

“Perhaps I’m not well versed in Earth jargon, but that last portion feels oddly specific.”

“Not at all. That street was  _ not _ —legally speaking—a school zone.” I shrug, walking with hands crossed behind my back. 

“Are these ‘cars’ common?”

“Very—Again, our cities and towns are now built to accommodate them. But...” We reach a flight of stairs leading to what I assume is the library. “...It’s nowhere near as convenient or  _ flashy _ as using a magic portal. It’s a neat trick—Oh, I can see all the different uses already.” I clap my hands together. I’m trying hard to keep my voice even, but I can hear it shifting in excitement. “Are you gonna teach it to me?” 

This time, he does not smirk. He smiled.

“Well presumably you’d need to know the fundamentals first. Come along, we’ve books to look up.”

This could be fun.

I follow him through the building. How libraries here work is a mystery. Does Felix have a library card? Does Felix even need a library card? Does  _ anyone _ need a library card? Maneuvering through the aisles of shelving it’s apparent he’s spent time in this library specifically. Reaching into his jacket interior the mage brings out a pair of half-moon glasses and gets to work. Maybe my non-digital reading muscles are out of shape, but the speed at which he can flick through pages is unreal. He starts to collect a stack of books on a nearby table. 

I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when I found myself fully capable of reading the spines. I don’t think I would be in the mood to learn another writing system today.

“There. These texts should be an adequate starting point.” Felix adjusts his glasses. “Though there are a few elements in these I find debatable and overly simplified, you’ll at least have me available to point out the flaws and provide clarification when necessary.” 

Staring, there are five very heavy-looking tomes.

“Um, okay… Did you want me to start overviewing them now while you do your sleuthing?”

“I suppose that would be most prudent...” Felix looked simultaneously interested and mildly disappointed. Something tells me he  _ wanted _ a chance to lecture.

“Oh, okay.” I stare at the books a little harder. “But uh, which one?”

“I recommend starting with this one.” He taps a tome in the middle of the collection, labeled  _ Gardner’s Fundamentals of Spellcasting _ . It’s hardback spine is broken in a multitude of places. This is starting to look a lot less fun. “This is the most popular primer for beginner students. Overall, it’s very direct, but if you have any questions, I can fill in the gaps.”

So he expects me to just dive right in? In that moment he seemed less a teacher and more a textbook with limbs. He begins to eye a different bookcase with what I assume is the  _ complicated  _ magic. 

“I’m fine starting on my own. I’ll tell you if I need anything.”

Right. How hard can this be?

Fifteen whole minutes pass and I’m still on the first chapter. 

What… what am I supposed to be looking  _ for _ ? I am most definitely reading and putting the words in my brain—three times over. Felix is softly hmm-ing in the background. His shuffling of pages is increasing in volume, and worst part is I know that’s just a result of me paying attention to it more than it  _ actually _ getting louder. By this point I can hear the pads of his fingers brushing across smooth paper. 

My eyes wander around the area. It feels like art history again—obstructive references to things nobody outside the field has any awareness of. Except, worse. The constant allusions and slang point to things an average person from Astraea would probably already know. These are now the links in the Wikipedia page you wind up clicking on before you can understand the rest of the article you actually needed.

What I wouldn’t give for Google right now.

I glance at Felix. He said he would answer questions, but if something shady is going on, then perhaps it would be better to let him continue researching. If I really can’t figure things out  _ then  _ I’ll bother him. Maybe I should try cross-referencing things first? I lean back. There’s a pile of books on my table, yet to be sorted, and top of the stack is  _ Jimmy Jam’s Cooking Charms _ . 

Consider it a brain break. 

Turning to a dog-eared page, it looks like a weird mix of cookbook and spellbook. It’s a little easier to understand what’s happening though, if only because I know how to boil an egg. However, in principle the charms seem utterly useless. What can these achieve that can’t be done by  _ actual _ good cooking? Even with  _ this  _ book—am I  _ still _ missing something? Are there really mages so incompetent to not know if an oven is hot, or is that just some rare Earth knowledge that  _ nobody  _ here bothered to learn? Rotating the book I try to decipher the marginalia. 

It’s illegible trash. 

The words are mixed in with all sorts of abstract symbols. At first I thought these were notes about the book’s contents, but in the semi-understandable areas whoever wrote this is listing ingredients like  _ yew _ . Seriously, is that  _ wolfsbane _ ?

“I don’t recall being a cooking instructor.”

Caught red-handed.

Felix peers at me over his lenses, brow raised.

I’m not going to address it.

“Hey, how would you feel about wolfsbane in your stew?”

“Wolfsbane? If that’s a threat remind me to never let you cook.”

“Then you’re already a smarter chef than whoever wrote this chicken scratch.” I slide the book towards him, pointing at the list of supposed ‘ingredients’. Good to know an intake of wolfsbane can still very much kill me here.

Felix eyes the scribblings. Initially, it was probably out of courtesy, but his expression soon shifts. Something’s amiss about the book.

“Where did you find this?”

“Here, on the table. It must have been fiddled with recently if it wasn’t shelved.” As I speak, he starts to squint at the terrible scrawl. An idea hits me. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I don’t recognize a lot of the symbols. And the variety of plants listed are classical poisons… Do you think it’s related to Anisa’s reports?”

“Hmm. That is a possibility I won’t rule out quite yet.” 

“Does it seem familiar to you?”

“The combination of these symbols and ingredients is unusual. It could be a spell, though it’s not one I myself recognize.”

“Is it some hodge-podge? Is—is that a  _ thing  _ in magic? Customizing spells?”

“Yes, but the way some of these elements interact would be questionable at best.”

So it  _ is  _ a spell. And it’s like chemistry. Sorta. 

Felix is already absorbed in this puzzle. I can’t blame him, though there’s no way I’m getting back to my own studies now. Moving around to his side of the table, I try to keep a polite distance while leaning over to observe the book once more. The game’s afoot, and I want in on it too.

“So, for clarification, just what are those symbols?” Though I won’t rule out they could be hieroglyphics of some sort, they looked way too similar to old elemental signs.

“Alchemical symbols.”

Score one for the history teach. 

He turns the page. Most of the symbols are still foreign to me, apart from the very obvious ones for sun and moon. I was half-praying to the anime gods I’d spot a flamel or ouroboros…

“... _ mercury… _ ” 

“You recognize this symbol?” Felix asks. I didn’t realize I spoke out loud.

The symbol is a circle with a cross beneath it, like the symbol for female, Venus. But atop is a crescent, like the Greek deity’s winged helmet.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. It’s a planetary symbol. As in the planet Mercury…” That… can’t be right, “You wouldn’t have that planet, though...”

“It represents the  _ element  _ mercury—quicksilver.” 

Oh. Right. I’m dumb.

“Just what exactly was this person cooking up? Ancient Chinese immortality drinks?”

“Anybody who consumes quicksilver would experience the opposite of immortality, I assure you— Wait...” Felix flips back to the previous page before grabbing his own paper and what looked like a carpenter’s pencil. His handwriting is significantly more readable as he begins to jot notes about the book’s contents. “Perhaps it’s some sort of code.”

“Code?”

A smirk returns. It must be a character trait.

“You see, necromancy isn’t exactly an  _ accepted  _ field of study.” 

“Ah, and here I was under the impression you majored in it,” I deadpan.

Though, honestly, what do I know about these things anyway?

“What? Heavens no! That would be akin to… Oh, I don’t know. Majoring in arson or minoring in forgery.”

Great. So it’s not just magic, it’s  _ illegal  _ magic.

“Is this the part where you reveal that you’re actually a criminal mastermind?”

“Not at all! Necromancy is simply a contentious issue.” Uh-huh. He sighs, searching for his next words. “Necromancers have a tendency to be… well… Death obsessed egomaniacs, many of whom desire to raise undead armies or aspire to become liches.”

“But not you.”

“Naturally! I am but a simple scholar who seeks to understand life and death for… reasons.”

“ _ Reasons _ ? That still sounds a little  _ villainous  _ to me.”

“Oh, dear apprentice, you have so much to learn. Luckily, you have found an excellent teacher in me.”

Yet somehow, I feel like he’s given me more questions than answers.

“And what do you think of our local troublemaker? ‘ _ Foul Skellingtons’ _ sounds like it falls into the wannabe-villain category. Is that why you think it’s coded?”

“Yes, well, it’s not the sort of material you post on the town bulletin board. It is not unusual to obfuscate one’s research.”

“Can you crack it?”

“But of course. All I require is time.”

And time I should give him. Silently, I slink back to my seat. Once again, I try to make sense of  _ Gardner’s _ , eventually resorting to just skimming the first chapters of all the beginner’s books on the topic. It helped, if just barely. Despite my newfound sense of industry, however, Felix’s occasional mutterings would distract me. There’s a persistent anticipation waiting for a eureka that has yet to come. I can’t help but try and listen in.

He scribbles something, scoffs, and crosses it out again. How many times he’s repeated that routine, I can’t even guess, nor am I certain of how much time has passed. The situation has stagnated.

“Uhh, you doing alright over there?”

“Hmm. I’ve run it through several cryptographic systems already.”

You’re kidding, right? What is he, a walking Enigma machine?

“There’s just one final piece that refuses to fit…” He’s muttering mostly to himself.

“Well… Maybe bounce it off me?” Because I’m dying to know. “Tell me, what are you missing?”

“Most of the steps are decipherable via a mix of code, cypher, and brute force frequency analysis. What’s elusive is one step that can best be decoded as,” he taps his paper, “see chapter three, page three, section three. Yet there are no further notes on said page.”

“Could it be a reference to one of the recipes? Otherwise they could have picked any other book right?” Or this could have been the random-ass book to begin with.

“I’ve considered that, but the most solid reference is to grapefruit juice.”

“Is it… an ingredient...?”

“No. What bloody use would a  _ citrus fruit _ have in necromancy?”

“I dunno. You tell me.”

He huffs at that.

“I can scarcely think of a more useless thing to put in a spell. I’m not even sure of any use beyond making other fruits appear sweeter with its own bitterness.”

“Maybe they’re trying to cover an aftertaste?”

Still not sure how spells can  _ have  _ an aftertaste, but the thought brings back memories of grapes.

“I doubt that.”

“Well what other uses are there for grapefruits?” I start counting with my fingers. “You eat ‘em. You can make a sugar scrub… Uh, you can eat it with coffee...?”

“You said ‘eating’  _ twice _ .”

“The first is eat-eating. The second is I-need-more-caffeine-eating.”

“Grapefruit does not contain caffeine.”

“Ah, but it increases  _ absorption _ . I remember my dad got in trouble with our doctor when he was on some medication. Drinking grapefruit juice practically doubled the dosage.”

He’s staring at me. 

“Of course! It’s a reference to the  _ tria prima _ .” 

There’s the eureka.

“You’re going to have to put that into layman's terms.” Instead of walking around the table, I opted to half sit on it, one leg folded in front of me. Crossing my arms, I slouch forward to get a better look at his own notes.

“The  _ tria prima _ , or three primes, are the mind, body, and soul. These three concepts are covered often in various magical studies—”

“—Including necromancy?”

“Indeed. Perhaps the grapefruit juice  _ is _ germane. I have seen references to a particular spell in obscure necromantic texts. I wonder…” Felix begins to scribble some more. He pushes onward with whatever thoughts are going through his head, continuing like this for a few moments.

“So… what’s your finding?”

“There purportedly is a spell where the caster fuels their magic via the absorption of spirits. But I had only known it as just a hypothesis—never have I seen a mention of it actually being composed, let alone attempted. It would likely be precarious at best.”

How the Hell he made those mental links is a wonder.

“Do you think it’s time we grab the others?”

“Of course. I would like to see if Anisa has come across anything herself.”

The sun was high and bright outside, it’s rays warm. And there was gossip in the market about happenings in the woods. The necromancer had only just gotten a few supplies before he caught wind of the rumor mill. Something about a knight on patrol in strange locales, whispers in the woods, and a figure in red just generally causing trouble. Felix muttered something about a ‘callstone’. 

We cut our shopping trip short before it had even really begun.

“Annie!? What is this I hear of your little altercation in the woods?” Anisa sighs, turning to Felix. A guard walks away. There’s a good chance she was mining him for information. She didn’t seem in the mood to discuss this here, so close to her captain’s office. “Giving me the old ghost are you? Why didn’t you call? You still have your old callstone, no?”

When return to the tower complex, Sage was already in Anisa’s office, lounging about on the couch. The knight rouses him and takes her place facing the rest of us, furrowing her brow.

“Are we all here? Good. I’ve quite the story to share…”

Anisa and Sage had quite the adventure in the woods while I was cooped up in a library. Magic may be new to me, but I’ve read enough fantasy to know that shattered wards and cloaked figures amongst the trees are bad juju. 

Perhaps it’s worth checking the temple one last time?

“That is most disconcerting.” Felix replies, shaking his head. “But behold, the fruit of our labor.” He removes the copy of  _ Jimmy Jam’s Cooking Charms _ from under his coat, plopping it on Anisa’s desk carelessly like a slab of cinderblock. Sage’s ears flinch at the sound. “Within, this deceptively innocuous book lie notes written in a code indecipherable to most. But not I—”

I cut in.

“Long story short, Felix cracked the code and found the instructions for a spell.”

“A forbidden technique for harnessing spirits to amplify one’s magic. Highly volatile and unstable as evinced by your cloaked mage.” Felix runs his fingertips across the cover of the strange cookbook, tracing the patterns of the binding. “I would have liked to have observed this strange mage myself. You must keep us appraised of your investigation.”

Anisa closes her eyes and exhales. When she opens them again, there’s something different in her eyes. Like a shadow.

“This whole plot feels overly familiar. Dark magic, cloaks, coded messages and rituals…” She takes a glance at the cookbook. “Quite frankly, it reminds me of the  _ Lord of Shadows _ .” 

No proper name. Only a title.

Not a good sign.

“Who is the Lord of Shadows?” I ask.

Even Sage’s manner is sober, eyes downcast.

“Y’know how the Starsworn were wiped out a few years ago? It’s on account of him.”

Well, shit.

A prickling sensation flows from the base of my skull down my spine. Gooseflesh rises on my arms, stuffing my hands in my pockets. That… is a bombshell. Felix displays a careless streak, it’s true, but what if that’s not what brought me here? Is that better, or worse? Could it all be an unfortunate coincidence? If I were to ask the stars, what would they tell me? Is it both—a predetermination created by strings of choice?

“Five years ago he threatened the realm with an army of fell nightmares. To think he could be returned…” The unfinished end of Felix’s sentence says plenty.

“The Lord of Shadows is dead.” Sage replies.

My perception of this world is minute. But it existed far before me, and that includes these three.

What  _ did _ they experience? 

Anisa stares unfocused, as if seeing something a thousand yards away, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Her body is stiff. The shadows dance across her face, and something tells my heart that it’s not just the angle of the setting sun. Like bamboo pulled back, she looks like she’s ready to spring—or snap. Something is weighing on her, moreso than the others. Looking at her sword hand, her wrist is set on the hilt of her blade, hand dangling out of cultivated practice, not rest. I shudder.

Her voice is steady as ever.

“I thought the same. Then Felix went and fished someone right out of the void, rendering death moot.”

“Are you blaming me for our present quandary?”

“I mean the fundamental rules of magic have somehow changed. I don’t want to believe it either. But I won’t ignore this. Not until we get to the bottom of it.” She huffs, moving only crossing her arms, closing her body further. “The timing of this all beggars belief.”

“Today is just full of bad coincidences.” I speak aloud, hoping saying the words with voice will make it truth. 

I’m not a fan of fate.

The mage who brought me here is of a different sort.

“This is no coincidence. We are in the midst of fate, my friends. From here on out, we must swim to seek the heart of this plot ere we sink.”

Are there people who honestly find the uncaring impartiality of fate  _ comforting _ ?

“...We’ll see what we can dig up.” Sage offers. “Perri, do try to keep out of trouble.”

“I’ll try. Hopefully nothing else goes sideways.”

Anisa sighs.

“Gods willing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to focus more on 1-on-1 character dynamics, though it's a bit awkward at first just because getting spit out in another universe tends to be an unusual start to any sort of relationship, friendly or otherwise.
> 
> This was also a bit trickier to write just because magic, apart from direct plot things, really isn't fleshed out. That's fine for the most part, since Last Legacy generally isn't that type of story with magic riddles and complex hard-magic problem-solving, but can be a bit of an issue for me churning things out because our protagonist here is 100% that type of person who clicks on every Wikipedia page, and now she's paired with a mentor who IS Wikipedia. As such I'm trying to fill in enough blanks to make it work without spitting out any actual rules. So indeed, that is a reference to actual irl alchemy in there, the tria prima of mercury, salt, and sulfur. 
> 
> My general rule of thumb is, if I had to personally research something while writing, our dear Miss Bostic probably didn't know it before getting dropped in Astarea.
> 
> And yes, grapefruit will affect your meds. It's ruined my old roomie's benadryl intake more than once.


	7. A List Of Things She Carried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon a having your first otherworldly shopping spree, expect running through a lot of coin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We need some Anisa 1-on-1. And it even gets to include a variation of one of her own moments.

Altoids. Lesson planner. Weekly planner. A folded essay rubric. Stray paper clips. The greatly preferred binder clips. Clicker. Pencils in 2B, 2H, HB, and Ebony. Three mechanical pencils in graphite, red, and blue. One highlighter. One marker pen. One fountain pen. Ballpoint pens in black, blue, red, and brown—clicky, naturally. 

Water bottle, empty. Hand sanitizer, half-empty. Granola bar, smashed.

Mask cord, intact. Charm previously on mask cord, not intact.

Phone, inoperable. 

Cinnamon candy, placed in bag in case of snack desperation.

Pocket mirror, stolen from my mom when I was ten years of age. She either never noticed, or simply didn’t care enough to mention it. I liked the design covered in dragonflies and butterflies, with  _ Missouri _ discreetly written on the back. 

Wallet, with cash. Two currencies, to show off how pretentiously international I am. Identification and credit cards. Photo of parents’ wedding day. Backup subway card. Eyeglass cloth.

Coin purse. I always told myself it was nana’s, but so many things were up for grabs when she died it’s hard to tell.

Chapstick. Cushion foundation. Lipstick. Food crumbs of unknown origin. Tangled earbuds.

Mask, KF94.

Mother’s rosary. I never learned how to pray with it, but she insisted I have it anyway. Often I find myself absently thumbing the pattern of beads if it’s in my pocket.

Sketchbook.

The previous evening was more subdued than the first. Sage and Felix had wandered off to run their own errands. Anisa provided me with dinner, but her superior inquired after her and she wound up spending much of the meal going over reports in a terribly responsible manner. Considering she’s between missions, and the city’s guard captain explicitly told her to relax, that’s a little  _ too  _ responsible to be sane—not that I, of all people, have any right to comment about such things. I wonder if her past with Mournfall pushes her to work harder, or if she’s just normally like this.

Anisa agreed to take me to the market today, to buy the things I still need. Sooner or later I’ll need to find a way to make some coin and pay them all back. Since Felix is decidedly not a morning person, and wanted to confirm the spell found in  _ Jimmy Jam’s _ , our first proper magic lesson was pushed to the afternoon. First thing today I took inventory of my bag.

“You’re awake early.” Anisa’s hair looked much more pink in the early morning light.

“I’m always up early. I assume it’s the same for you?”

“Yes, well the early bird catches the worm. I was afraid I was going to disturb you by coming in to claim some paperwork I had left behind.”

“Sorry I’ve been hogging your office.”

“Please don’t worry about it! You need a place to stay. I just wish I could have provided a more proper accommodation.” She flashes an upbeat smile, and I notice a particularly pointy incisor. Despite lacking the ears and tail of Sage, perhaps she’s not as  _ homo sapien sapien  _ as I thought.

Could be both.

“Well, if you ever find yourself on Earth I’d be happy to return the favor.”

Her eyes slide from me to the assortment of items. I can tell she’s curious, and to be honest, I’m curious about her own knowledge as well.

“Those are all the items that came with you, aren’t they?”

“Yeah… There’s nothing particularly unique in here.” I catch myself turning the rosary in my pocket again. It’s that same habit of  _ feeling _ objects that landed me here in the first place. “But if you’re curious about any of this stuff I can fill you in sometime.”

Breakfast took longer than intended for that very reason. Explaining the most mundane of items is oddly refreshing. It’s solid ground for my mind, being things I know. They reveal a lot about the state of the world, I suppose. I fear I’m being long-winded, but she takes it in stride. How much of that is due to honest interest and how much is due to Felix is up for debate. Absently, my mind finally registers that the bands that mark her skin are natural.

“What’s the purpose of having two planners?”

“One’s for work, one’s for everything else.”

“And what did you do for work?”

“I teach.”

“Oh! That makes sense. You explain things very clearly.”

“Well I did spend five years in uni studying it, so I’d sure hope I have some skill.”

“Did you pursue teaching for a reason?” She stops herself suddenly, gaze switching to her cup, before hastily adding, “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Normally, that question would drain me at best, but it’s familiarity is so strangely welcome I don’t even blink before I open my mouth.

“That’s the type of question I’d get in a job interview.” I lean back, hands resting on the table, a warm cup between them. “I just love it. Simple as that. I...” need a job that’s not complete bullshit. “I like my subject areas. I like my kiddos. And I just like  _ learning _ .”

And above all else, I can’t stop sounding like my university admission essays. The only thing missing is an exaggerated sob story version of my family background as the opener. I could  _ never  _ work an office job.

“And what about you, Anisa? You’re a knight, correct?”

“Yes, of the Sunstone Order.” 

“What’s your reason for becoming one?” I ask, but I already sense I know the answer.

“It felt like the right thing to do. Even more so after what happened five years ago.”

Anisa would probably hate an office job even more than I.

We pack up breakfast and ready to leave. The conversation moves on to more objects, and more explanations. I tell her the pocket mirror is a souvenir from Branson, Missouri. I like the coin purse because it’s vintage. I explain the rosary is a set of prayer beads, not a necklace. There’s a lot of Earth culture in these items. Mundane as they are, though, I don’t think they reveal anything about me at all.

The marketplace is bustling. Spilling into the center of the street, it’s akin to a permanent flea market, with the variety of stalls selling all sorts of goods. Mind, most of those goods are fish.

“Alright Anisa. I’m going to need you to take the lead on this because I need something for my hair  _ stat _ .”

We can’t all have the pretty flowing volume of Anisa’s ideal locks—.

“There’s a vendor over here that I buy everything from.”

—But a girl can certainly  _ try _ . Whatever she let me borrow last night was magical—maybe literally. Eying the various vials and jars, the whole stall smells of florals and spice. Whiffs of everything ranging from bergamot to strawberry float on the air. There’s even a cream that smells akin to ylang-ylang. And I have need of  _ every _ toiletry. The vendor looks at me expectantly. 

“So what are your most affordable items?”

“Hold on Perri. You don't need to worry too much about price, I’ll be covering it.”

But isn’t that all the  _ more  _ reason to pay attention to it? I distinctly recall her mentioning a ‘knight’s meager salary’ when we first met.

“You’re already doing so much—”

“Nonsense! With hair as long as yours, you should get the right product.”

“Your friend is right, you know.” With a rolling accent, the vendor speaks up. Because  _ of course _ she’d come out when someone is trying to convince me to splurge. “Is your hair naturally that—” she sizes me up, “—of course... It  _ is _ that bone-straight.”

Rude. 

She pulls some of the hanging bottles closer to her face, checking the labels.

“Clearly volume will not be easy here. But silkiness is there, just buried under all that oil...” 

Can she see that under my beret? I’d rather this lady  _ not _ . The vendor rummages around under the tabletop, before pulling out a box with an assortment of bottles. Anisa turns to address me.

“Are there any scents you prefer?”

“Uh, well back home I generally used coconut oil.”

Again, the vendor perks up.

“Ah, that makes this easier. I might have just the thing for you.” A bottle is shoved in my face. I catch notes of jasmine under the predominantly coconut scent. “I don’t think most people here know what to make of coconut. Shame, since it’ll fix those split ends of yours right up.” Oh my God. With my ponytail, can she actually see that from this angle, or is she yanking my chain? “It’s a very foreign scent.”

“We’ll take it.” Anisa brushes past me, readying to pay before I can even respond.

I take mental note of how many coins she takes out of a black embroidered pouch. Embroidery must be popular on those pouches, since Felix’s looked similar. Though she assures that I don’t need to pay her back, I want to get her something of equivalent value eventually. The trip continues like that. I try to figure out actual prices, Anisa then insisting it’s no trouble. Is she keeping track of these purchases in her head? She doesn’t strike me as the type to be irresponsible with money… right?

The toiletries are one thing. Now what I need is clothes. I’ve been spying on the people around me and their outfits for a while now, and I’ve formulated a list of a few necessary items to build a capsule wardrobe. I can’t wear Anisa’s cloak forever—besides, I’ve always wanted one of my own.

And I spy just the place. 

“Good morning! What can I do for you ladies?” The old shopkeep offers a broad smile.

Unlike the other stalls, it’s actually a shop with a large counter-like area. The merchandise spills out in front of it as if it were masquerading as a stall. There’s clearly more stuff inside, and all things considered, they probably do tailoring. If my assumption about clothing in this world is right, these are just the items that were renegaded sales or possibly even thrifted. At least nothing is polyester.

“I’m wondering what’s popular these days. I’d like your  _ professional  _ opinion”

“Well, despite the cool nights the days are getting warmer. I’m sure you’ll want to ready your wardrobe for the coming season. Some of these are already ready-to-wear, though if one of them isn’t to size we can alter it for a discount.”

“Well I’d like versatile items. Can we browse inside too?”

“Of course.”

I get straight to work. Rapidly I flick through the items, Anisa close behind. I didn’t realize I was silent until I hear her voice beside me.

“Do you need any help?”

“I think I’ve got a handle on the most important items. I just need to find them.” I glance at Anisa. She’s trying to discreetly look inside that black coin pouch. “Everything alright?”

“Oh! Yes, everything’s fine.”

I grab a blue jacket and hold it up to her. At her look of confusion, I nod.

“This blue really is a good color on you, Anisa.”

“We’re here for you, not me.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t window shop.” 

We move into the shop proper, making commentary on the quirkier items. Patterns, piping, contrasting stitches, layers, lace… The fashion here is rich, interesting, and  _ maximalist _ . A pinafore in the corner of the room catches my eye. 

Oh damn. That dress is  _ cute _ . 

Plum purple? Check. Accent buttons? Check. Sizable pockets?  _ Double check _ .

Nonono I don’t  _ need  _ it… But... 

That doesn’t mean I can’t  _ look _ . Eyeballs aren’t currency after all. I explicitly keep searching for the items on my mental list. Still, I find myself spying it from time to time. Next time I look at Anisa, she’s giving me a knowing expression.

“Uh, I think we’re done” I say.

“Are you certain you don’t want to grab a dress?” Nodding her head to the back corner, she grins. “You’ve only chosen a small number of items. One more won’t hurt.”

The shopkeep has been listening to the whole exchange and jumps on the opportunity to make a sale. 

“I see you have a good eye. That was supposed to go to someone about the same size as you, actually.”

Plucking the item to bring to us, he tries to work his salesman skills. Anisa winces at the price. She glances at me and my (presumably dingy) foreign appearance, hesitating.

“...I think that’s fine.”

Well then it’s  _ not  _ fine. She’s being  _ too  _ nice to me. But she’s insistent on buying me things. Taking a breath, I step up to the shopkeep.

“So, wait. Let’s back up a moment. What material is this again?”

“It’s wool, but don’t worry, it’s not winter wool. It’s sourced for it’s lightness. And unlike linen it will not crease.”

“Uh-huh. And, uh, what if I was to go swimming in it?” 

“S-swimming?” He blinks.

It’s too late. I’ve said it. Now I have to roll with it.

“Yes…  _ swimming _ . What if, I was to say, get... into some sort of accident, and fall into the lake? Wool gets heavier when wet, no?” Please let that be right. 

“Well, er, yes. Yes it does.”

“And by how much? By ten percent?  _ Seventy percent _ ?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“Hmm. I think I’m fine with what I have now.” In hindsight, I could have just said ‘no, I changed my mind’. Never shall I show my face here again. “I think that’s everything we need, Anisa.”

“Uh, right.” She says.

I still want that dress. Before leaving the shop I glance at it one last time. This is worse than browsing online and adding twenty items to your wishlist.

Anisa shoots me a questioning look, but before she can say anything about my Karen moment, there’s a pitched gurgle. Embarrassed red dusts her cheeks.

“Ah, I think it’s probably time for lunch.”

“Lunch would be dandy.” 

Saved by the bell. Or stomach, as the case may be.

Somehow this brings us back to  _ The Saucy Gull _ of all places. Busy as ever, I can see the same barkeep from two nights ago glance my way with his good eye. She takes money out of a brown leather pouch and pays for lunch. We slide into a booth, sitting across from each other. Are restaurants just not a thing in Mournfall, or did I really bleed Anisa dry? 

“I thought you weren’t a fan of this place.”

Grabbing a slice of grainy brown bread from a table basket, she chomps down.

“I know, I know. But I wanted somewhere we could talk far from prying ears.”

“More questions about my home?”

Placing her elbows on the table, her look is thoughtful.

“You could say that. But surely you have questions about Astarea? I did promise to help instruct you, even if I’m not your main guardian.”

“Ah, that’s true. It’s pretty different from home. It’s impossible to not be curious.”

“Tell me, what’s your impression of Astarea so far?”

“Well, it’s full of magic. And the dangers are different from home.” My eyes flick to the sam browne belt across her chest. The cross-strap gives a militaristic look to her sword belt. Once more, I can’t help but think back to whatever must have happened five years ago. She can’t be much older than I.

“This world is teeming with magic—it’s all around us, woven into the sun, the air, even us. When there is a disturbance such as a powerful, disruptive spell, it produces shocks.” 

“Like ripples on the water?”

“Exactly.” She finishes her current piece of the bread then grabs another. I can’t tell if it’s rye or just soft-burnt. It’s been sitting out in the open in this dingy place, however, so I don’t think I’m hungry enough to risk it.

“Are you saying Felix’s summoning could have caused a chain reaction? Like falling dominos?”

“Felix is as careless as he is talented. I want to take him at his word but… I have a hard time believing he accidentally conjured you whole from the void.” Her eyes trace the wood grain of the table. “I’m certain he’s hiding something. That one has ever played his cards close to his chest.”

So I’m not the only one who feels something is moving under the surface. 

That’s not comforting.

“You’ve told that captain about the wards,  _ right _ ?”

“I—no. I may have disregarded orders yesterday.” The bread in her hand crumbles, a sizable chunk dropping on the floor. Anisa frowns. “I want to get to the bottom of this first before involving the local guard. Though the Lord of Shadows may be dead, we can’t ignore any lingering influence he might have.”

Her frown was too heavy to be just from the dropped bread. She ducks after the stray piece. When she re-emerges, there’s a mischievous look of determination in her eye.

“It’s as the great Detective Murple used to say. ‘Leave no boulder unturned, no puddle unscryed’. Imagine the look on Barani’s face when we solve this case right under his nose.” Grinning, she pops a piece of the recovered bread in her mouth…

“Did you just  _ eat  _ that?”

“Hmm?”

“The bread. Off the floor. Did you just eat  _ floor bread _ ?”

“What, this?”

To my abject  _ horror _ , Anisa tosses the remainder of the bread in her mouth. That is so… so...  _ unhygienic _ .

“What’s wrong?”

“That bread was just on the floor!” 

“A little floor bread never hurt anyone!” She laughs. 

I… can’t. 

A sullen teen in a stained apron approaches our table with a pair of bowls. Whatever’s in them can’t be particularly warm, because they’re both cast iron.

“I hope you don’t mind I chose the lunch—The gruel seemed the safest.”

Says the woman who just ate floor bread.

Peering into the bowl, my appetite dies a swift and brutal death. It’s an off-white mush. The first spoonful of the gruel is tasteless—impressively so.  _ Water  _ has more taste. The second spoonful brings the faintest memory of chicken, but maybe my gustatory cortex was just overreacting to the sensory deprivation.

“How does this taste exactly like nothing? Did someone cook the ghost of a chicken? Should I check the kitchen for necromancers?”

“It’s not  _ that  _ bad.”

“You’re right—it’s worse.” Instead, I push the bowl towards Anisa and pop a cinnamon candy in my mouth. I place another piece in front of her for whenever she’s finished. She’ll need it. “Y’know I thought you were the straight-laced one.”

Briefly she stops her eating, looking askance. 

“I—I wouldn’t ordinarily blatantly disregard rules, but…”

“But?”

“I met you.” Her confidence quickly turns to uncertainty. “That is—You came crashing into my life! Quite literally. And, well…” she tucks a curl behind her ear, “This might sound silly, but I feel as though this is the beginning of a great journey.”

Her optimism is infectious. Or maybe I’m just naturally susceptible to it. I cross my arms, but smile anyway.

“I don’t think it’s silly. It’s certainly an adventure.” Stuffing the candy wrapper in my pocket, I look at Anisa. “So, tell me, who is this Detective Marple?”

“ _ —Murple _ .”

“I have a feeling it’s the same difference.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was even more mundane than the previous, but I think that somehow makes it a bit more insightful on character. Or is that just me thinking that? Idk. It came incredibly quickly. I probs typed most of it on the subway (Please don't expect that level of industry from future me). I hope especially now that Anisa seems a bit more serious in her rewrite that this chapter can be a sensical inclusion of her more idealistic and friendly personality that was emphasized before the update before the main plot inevitably gets her into danger-mode again.
> 
> I didn't intend to basically map our star interloper's every damn waking moment in Astraea, but considering how much there just is to do when you suddenly pick up and move somewhere totally new, it just kinda happened that way. I would -expect- it to spread out after a while, but it's just to early for her to even get that daily routine.
> 
> Also, I only just now realize that KF94 is a Korean only label for dust masks. Great. Now Perri exists in an international limbo. What I was *trying* to do was make the situation on Earth a little ambiguous with it being a fine dust mask which doesn't necessarily mean 2020, wholly forgetting that I never wore them before moving to Asia.


	8. A Study In Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon a long lesson in magic, expect thoughts to cloud your sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. More Sage. Straight from his chapter one.

Internalizing the fact I was in another world can only wait so long. For now, I compartmentalized it. It was just like going abroad. Some of the populace just happens to be very… _quirky_ , in appearances. That’s all. Everything is _fine_ . The process will be a little inconvenient but getting home _will_ happen, right? 

“Well, you certainly look… less out of place with your new garments.”

Felix had been waiting for us in Anisa’s study, her bookshelf looking to be in a completely different arrangement from this morning. In his annoyance for _our_ lateness he spent the wait time scouring the books for anything relevant. This, of course, brushes over the fact that he himself was late based on how long he claimed to be waiting. Does he have a key to this place, did he break in, or did Anisa just not lock anything? Instead of shooing him out, I leave Anisa and the basket of purchases with Felix and change in her quarters. I can see why she has me living in the office instead of sharing. The room is tiny.

“Please, Felix, that’s hardly a compliment.” Anisa rolls her eyes.

I shrug.

“Hey, ‘looking out of place’ is what I’m trying to avoid.” 

I do love the feeling of a new outfit though. The yellow scrunchie I wore when I landed here makes a nice accent.

She shakes her head.

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll see you two later. There are some things I want to check on.”

The knight lieutenant gives us a little wave as she says her goodbye. Now it’s just me and the mage. Briefly, I question whether being in Astraea is not simply _‘going abroad’_. I choose to focus on the sudden sounds of paper shuffling and page turning near the table. Felix whips out his glasses. 

“Shall we get started?”

“Sir, yessir.” My vowels twang.

Just as I pull a seat at the table, one of the heavy library tomes is unceremoniously dropped in front of me. I try not to grimace.

“So, apart from your detour to explore arcane cooking techniques, how much have you read of _Gardner’s_?”

“I read the first chapter.” 

“Only the first chapter?”

“Well, I read it three times.”

He sighed.

“Ah. Right, I suspected we may need to start with the most basic fundamentals today.”

“Hey, I read the first chapter in _all_ the books you handed me.”

“And yet you never moved onto _chapter two_ in the simplest book?” 

He sounded vaguely disappointed. Excellent, defying expectations already, Miss B.

“It’s the 21st century and vertical reading’s for scrubs.” Already feeling tired, I exhale. “I think there’s been a glaring oversight in your curriculum. I’m not _from_ here. These books are written in Astraea, by Astraeans, for Astraeans. I was trying to build up the context I’m lacking.”

I hear my right wrist crack slightly at my gesticulation.

“You could have asked me.”

Oh... right...

“Well I’m just not smart enough for that kind of logic.” Voice deadpan, I can’t help but wiggle my fingers for extra flair. “Fortunately, I have Lady Luck on my side, as if she knew boredom was exactly how I would stumble across a bunch of mysterious mage code.”

“ _That_ is the reason you opened up _Jimmy Jam’s Cooking Charms_?”

“Yes.”

Crossing his arms, he lets out an exasperated noise.

“And here I was under the impression you were interested in magic itself.”

I lean over and reach for my bag.

“Oh, I am—don’t you worry your pretty little head. I just needed a different perspective because something wasn’t clicking. Honestly, ignoring the trashy marginalia, that book actually helped clarify a few things. It makes a surprisingly good scaffold. Particularly the section about baking.”

Clicking a pen in one hand, I flip to an empty page in my sketchbook. 

“There are a few fundamental things the books assumed I would already know. New information ain’t gonna stick until I have this context.”

Felix moves around to my side of the table to review the list I’m writing, expression thoughtful.

“Hmm. I had not considered that.”

“Since my world is devoid of magic, I can’t assume anything. For instance: _Can everyone use magic_ ? Just today Anisa said there’s magic _in_ everything here, but I still don’t know if that means everyone has the potential to _be_ a mage. And that’s just one question.”

“How about we start by reviewing your list in order, then...”

 **One** : _Where does it come from_?

 **Two** : _Who (or what) can use it_?

 **Three** : _How is it performed_?

 **Four** : _What is the price_?

 **Five** : _What is impossible_?

I spent the afternoon listening—listening and talking, my only real skills to be honest. This is by far more engaging than a textbook, and the list establishes some learning objectives for today. Due to how divorced my starting knowledge is from where I need to be, however, even the first question alone turned into a long discussion. It does not help that Felix, despite being mostly understandable, does adds additional commentary to each subject. The extraneous information, combined with the largess of each topic, resulted in each question being more like their own units on the general workings of Astraea. Not that I mind, though. I missed academia. 

Felix coughs. Reaching for his teacup, he frowns upon realizing it’s empty.

I stretch my intertwined hands above my head, feeling several joints popping in the process. 

“Y’know, I think this might be a good time for a break. Maybe you should pour yourself some more tea.”

Clearing his throat a little he reaches for the teapot.

The room is bathed in warm light. Taking a glance out the window the trees are surrounded by a halo of softly diffusing light. It’s starkly framed by the dark metal of the window lattice. I drape over the back of the chair, chin in the crook of my arm, enjoying the sensation. I was still for several moments. You know you’re getting old when all you want to do is stare at the scenery.

“It’s already the magic hour.”

“Magic hour?”

I’ve been saying thoughts aloud _a lot_ these past couple days. Maybe my brain is just too stressed to keep my mouth shut. I turn my head slightly to glance at Felix.

“It’s a photography term. The sun has just set, the light is warm, golden, and angled just so. The light is diffused perfectly—see.” I sit up and angle my hands into a frame. “Not a single harsh shadow.” I drag my hand frame from the window into the room, eventually letting the sight linger on Felix and the table in front of him. The fireplace behind is lit for the kettle, rounding out the framed scene with its backlight. Glasses hanging around his neck, the neutral gray color of his eyes to pick up whatever hues linger in the atmosphere. “The lighting is phenomenal right now. It would be ideal for a portrait.”

Too bad I don’t have a camera.

Felix makes a good image.

“You speak like someone familiar with the arts.”

“Haha—and that’s exactly what I want people to think. I’m no grandmaster by any stretch. I know enough to yell at kids and excuse my tendency to stare without blinking.”

“At the temple, you mentioned you were a teacher. An art instructor then?”

“Not currently, but I’m allowed to teach it. My initial licensure’s in social studies.” Shifting, I rest a knee on the edge of the table. “I’m a double-whammy of _last-to-hire, first-to-fire_.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Art is usually the first department to get cut. And though history is a core subject, it’s hyper-competitive. It doesn’t matter if I know the social, political, and economic history of the potato—there’s, like, 350 people applying for the _same single position_ but _they_ have more networks and experience. I sure know how to pick a career path, huh?” 

I can feel my smile is lopsided, and maybe a little pained. Felix pours me a cup of fresh tea.

“That doesn’t sound quite right. You already seem significantly less loathsome than practically all of my old professors.”

I scoff.

“Anisa was right—You _are_ careless.” I tip my cup slightly, gesturing towards him, as he looks at me with surprise and mild offense. “Two days and you’re already making bold claims about me. _Positive_ ones at that.” I take a sip. “I wager it’ll be a challenge to keep ‘em.”

“Why? Are you particularly draconian in your classroom?”

I scrunch my nose at the thought.

“Ugh. I sure hope not… What about you? First time teaching?”

Felix pauses for a moment, a briefest flicker of embarrassment, or maybe worry, across his brow. That was not my intent.

“Does it show?”

I rest my chin on the back of my hand. Honestly, he’s a natural lecturer, though who knows how well that would translate to a room of thirty people with underdeveloped impulse control. I shake my head.

“You _did_ say you were some ‘dangerous illegal necromancer.’” 

He crosses his arms.

“I said nothing about being dangerous.”

“Well, no offense, but I didn’t get the impression that it’s a field known for sunshine, daisies, and social acceptability. Which reminds me—any theories yet on what was up with your spell?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“You—you used _necromancy_ , right?”

“That is correct.”

It was a summoning. And a necromantic one at that. Putting those two together implies… No, I don’t know enough to make assumptions like that. I don’t _want_ to make assumptions like that. It reeks of tragedy.

But his grand declarations when we met, that embrace, and the date everyone keeps harkening back too... I don’t believe in fate, but there’s little weight behind this being mere coincidence.

Me being here must be a _consequence_.

Felix’s mouth briefly twitches downward. I know I was staring. I don’t care.

“I won’t ask what you were trying to do. But I do _trust_ you’ll tell me anything relevant to getting me home, right?”

The smug countenance he’s carried the entire afternoon wilts.

“Of—Of course.”

“Good. Now, I don’t know about you but I’m craving something sweet—Or is it already time for dinner?”

I half consider wolfing down that smashed, sad-looking granola bar still floating around in my bag somewhere, only for my mental debate to be interrupted by one lady knight and one cat man.

“Well well, the shortie hasn’t scared you off already?”

“Please, do continue to enthrall us with such insightful commentary, Sage.” Felix retorts, in an attempt to recover his earlier demeanor. “I’ll have you know I could be tall if I wanted too.”

 _Can_ he?

Anisa sighs, placing a basket on her desk. The weighty _thunk_ it makes when hitting the desk-top makes it seem like a stack of bricks is in there. Or more magic texts...

“Not even thirty seconds and you two are already going at it.” Anisa shifts to me. “I hope you’re not so invested in lessons to skip out on dinner.”

“Depends on if it’s more mush from the Gull.”

She laughs at that, checking on the contents of the basket. Whatever was in there smelled damn good. 

“Everyone likes to complain about the Gull but it’s a very lively place” Sage says.

“Your definition of lively seems… risky.”

He grins, showing off his pointy canine teeth.

“I’m pretty sure that’s _why_ it’s lively.”

“ _Uh-huh_.” I make doubly sure my expression is as flat as possible.

“If you enjoy it so immensely why bother coming here?” Felix asks, though it sounded more like a demand to leave than a real question.

“ _You_ did pay me to stick around, after all.”

It may be only two days’ worth of observation but Sage seems to consistently win these back-and-forths. 

“I’m assuming this’ll be a dinner party for four?” I ask, looking around the Starsworn before my eyes settle on the merc. His tail swishes.

“Yeah, well, Anisa would work too hard if I wasn’t here.”

The woman in question starts revealing the contents of the basket. Meat pies, looking infinitely better than that misery the Gull has the gall to call ‘gruel’.

“If only because I can keep an eye on you, Sage.”

“Happy to help,” He laughs.

Dinner continues in a similar fashion. At points I fade into the background of their dynamic—I am the newcomer after all. Besides, I don’t mind. I enjoy listening. There’s a lot to be gleaned from just watching. Felix is wordy as always. When the mage speaks of his actual ideas, they’re dramatic and grandiose—a pie in the sky. I wonder if he’s ever tried walking instead of flying, metaphorically speaking. Perhaps he wouldn’t crash so badly when he _inevitably_ took Sage’s bait. That mercenary’s roguish demeanor gives him his own brand of showmanship. He’s way too good at getting everyone riled up, but something tells me that’s the point. Sage is certainly never boring. Anisa is truly devoted to being a peacekeeper. A marvel, considering what she has to work with. I would describe a good half of her words as ‘chastisement’. But she speaks up on what seems to be instinct. It puts her in an easy position for someone to speak of griffin eggs again. 

“Besides, Perri doesn’t need to hear that story. I can’t believe you’ve brought it up. Twice!”

“Actually, we don’t have griffins on Earth,” I note. In a mumble, I can’t help but add, “If we did the internet would be all over that.”

I thought that would prompt a telling of the incident. Instead they focus on me, the local Earthling. Sitting criss-cross applesauce in my chair, I let them pepper me with questions. 

The mage asks ‘what is the internet’, ‘how does it work’, ‘where does it come from’ and so on. It was a challenge to explain it while being minimal about the hundred-plus years of previous tech that preceded it. The knight asks with enthusiasm about all the daily things I can do with the internet. If only I could show her all the cat memes. The sellsword asks me to expand on stories I keep referencing. Eventually I spit out a whole rant about the kid who set the chem lab on fire for a YouTube vid.

When it’s finally time to retire, Anisa fishes out blankets for me. I settle in on the plush couch. I have no idea how long I laid there in a ball, blinking at the darkness.

I’m tired.

I’m too tired to sleep.

It’s been this way the past few nights. I shouldn’t be surprised—I did just fall into another world, after all. Still, with how adamant I am at keeping the days busy, I wonder why the tiredness hasn’t translated to sleepiness—quite the opposite in fact. Every night I’ve been here I’ve traced the patterns on the ceiling, fingers raised in the air. Soon I’ll start seeing women trapped within wallpaper. Is this just homesickness, or existential dread at my sudden expansion of universal understanding? Or both? Dear Lord, it’s probably _both_.

It’s not like going abroad. Not at _all_.

I hear footsteps coming from the hall. Sitting up, I notice a shadow wavers under the door, two feet, and a brief flicker of something else swiftly moving from behind it.

“Sage? That you?”

The door cracks open. Sage emerges from the dark hallway to lean against the doorframe.

“You’re still up.”

I adjust, taking care to keep a blanket wrapped around me like a shawl.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Again.

“Heh, did Felix’s talking knock you out earlier?”

“If only. Then maybe I’d be a little less likely to die a sad exhaustion death tomorrow when Anisa kicks my ass… I thought you left. Why are you still here?”

“About halfway to the Gull I got to thinking about back when we—The Starsworn, I mean—trained here ages ago.” There’s a flicker of something in his eyes but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “This old tower is full of all kinds of secret passages and hidey holes… if you know where to look.” So, the Starsworn must have been prominent here, in Mournfall. “I used to get up to all sorts of trouble when I was stationed here.”

“And that’s why you’re sneaking around in the middle of the night? Nostalgia?”

His ears flick as he cants his head toward the hall. He looks like my cat when his ears pick up something inaudible to mine.

“Ah, I should go. I’d rather Anisa not catch me here and get the wrong idea.”

Pushing off the doorframe, he moves to leave.

“Can I come with?”

Sage’s mouth opens ready to protest, but as I stand he sighs. 

“Fine. Quietly.”

I nod, making a zipping motion with my fingers across my mouth. In that moment, I wonder about the existence of zippers. Brushing past me, Sage examines one of the bookcases. Applying a bit of force, the shelving unit moves, revealing a passageway behind it. It was just like something out of the movies.

“Keep close, and mind the tail.”

He walks into the darkness.

I follow.

I take care to not trip as we head up a narrow, winding stairway. The air smells familiar, choked with heavy dust and cobwebs and the telltale smell of weirdly dry yet crisp mildew like the basement of every Midwestern family home. Moonlight filters in via arrowslits. Cobwebs sway in the subtle air current, the thinnest strands being visible as only quiet flickers. I suppressed a shiver at each glimpse, my imagination actively tricking me into thinking they’re brushing against my skin. My hands stay at my sides. I don’t want to risk touching the walls in this darkness.

After a brief eternity, we reach the apex.

When Sage glances my way, his feline eyes glow, reflecting the cool moonlight as smoothly as a glassy mirror.

“You’re gonna love this.”

He bounds across the wooden floor of the chamber, turned into a silhouette against a large opening in the stone wall. The gothic archway in the stone opened into the air, glassless, letting the wind whip through his hair as he grins at me over his shoulder. Sage waits expectantly. I join him, and the cool night air sweeps away the smell of dust and disuse. Mournfall glitters below us. The moon is full, it’s twin self reflected upon the dark glassy surface of the lake. I let my eyes drink it in. Then again, don’t I always?

In my periphery I spot Sage looking my way, expression inscrutable. 

I’ll admit it, cat-man was right. I do _love_ this.

“Where are we? We must be high up.”

Sage inclines his head upward, leaning a bit out the window.

“Close to the top floor. I used to come up here all the time. This loft is convenient if you need a space that’s secret, isolated… mostly soundproof.”

Because that’s not a suspicious statement. I huff, but I feel more relaxed that I did on that couch, and overall in good spirits.

“Heh, because that doesn’t play into your reputation.”

Despite the hushed murmuring of my aside, I see his ears swivel towards me as his brows knit.

“What’s that?”

Oh. Oops. Something is up with me because again, I just can’t keep my mouth shut. I clear my throat and shrug my shoulders. Add some levity.

“From what I’ve gathered, you seem to have a _bit_ of a reputation.”

He blinks slowly. It’s eerily similar to my own fuzzball, Salem. I have the sudden urge to hug my little panther again.

“That so?” The opening we’re standing in is only so large, and the distance between us is easily closed. It’s close enough we’re both turning our necks. But he leaves plenty of opening for me to side-step away. His pupils are dilated, like a bright-eyed cat ready to start trouble. “You’ve got concerns about my _reputation_.” Silver hair obscures half of his face, head tilting.

“Should I be?”

A quiet smile spreads on his lips.

“So, you’ve heard certain salacious whispers about me? Who’s been running their mouth?” The smile vanishes as his voice lowers to a rumbling growl. “It was Felix wasn’t it? Tch, I’ll have to kick some respect into that little snitch.”

“Snitch? So you mean it’s true?” I’m trying not to chuckle. And failing. Shaking my head I try to regain some composure. “It wasn’t Felix! Well, not directly. Those asshats in the Gull clearly don’t know the meaning of subtly. Err—not that I’m judging or anything.” 

Considering the—ahem— _‘libertine’_ friends I have back home, what I suspect from Sage would fit right in with them. Hell, it might even be milder. I turn my gaze. 

Have they noticed I’m gone…?

“You thought I’d be offended!?” Sage bursts into laughter. “Why? I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Well that’s nice.”

“You’re not jealous are you?”

“ _Ugh_.” 

Golden eyes twinkle with amusement. Rolling my eyes I turn my head to look back out at the town below. Again, I look to the stars. The lights of the town, though clear and twinkling, are gentle and soft, their influence only reaching so far. It leaves the stars bright, like a clear summer night in the fields. If it wasn’t for the quiet, mild chill of spring, I could have easily imagined myself back in some dusty barn.

“Well, you’ve got my undivided attention now,” he says. What is that supposed to mean?

I feel his hand tugging lightly at my hair before I see it, a spot that brushes against my skin. Snapping my head back, his fingers pull back, rolling a crumpled mess of sticky white threads… 

_Spider webs_.

“Ew ew ew!”

I can’t suppress a violent shudder as I weasel away from the window. My hands are waving in front of me, but I can’t bring them far from my body as I press my elbows in. I just… no. _Just no_. Sage laughs at me more. Something tells me he won’t let me live this down.

“Not a fan of spiders?”

“Oh gee, you’ve revealed my greatest weakness. Now you have the ultimate power to destroy me,” I bite back, raising my voice in the direction of the floor. Every time the air tickles my hair I fight the urge to jump. I grab my hair and hold it tightly in front of me.

“If it’s any consolation, the rumors of my debauchery are… somewhat exaggerated.”

“ _Well_ , that’s a lot less fun then.” The breeze picks up. I take another look at the scene beyond the tower. Twice today I have wished for my camera. “Y’know, you’re a lot smarter than other people have made you out to be.”

“Who’s been sayin’ that?”

“You were right. I like this. The stars are nice.”

He’s perceptive. He wouldn’t be so good at trolling Felix if he wasn’t.

Muffled voices come through the stone wall—someone’s close.

“That’ll be our signal to leave. C’mon.”

The descent to the office is uneventful, and the rest of the night is wordless for the both of us. When he silently slips out of the office, I curl up in the blankets once more. Sleep comes easier. 

Until I shake myself awake once more imagining another spider. 

Gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proofreading? Don’t know her.
> 
> I do hope the devs give us some of that good good lore in future updates. Or hell, even random tweets.
> 
> In the meantime, it's been interesting to try and balance the various characters. Though eventually I'll need to focus more in on a single route eventually, I don't want to lose the rest of the Starsworn during these early stages. That power of friendship ya'll.
> 
> It took a while to figure out exactly what to breeze through and what to include here instead of in another chapter, but I think this feels overall, like, our protagonist trying to really people watch our trio of Starsworn in particular, which gives the different scenes here a decent throughline.
> 
> And before anybody says anything, yes, Midwesterners end on propositions. "Can I come with?" is a perfectly acceptable phrase. Blessed are the cheesemakers.


	9. A Squire's Foil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon your first fencing lesson, expect injuries to lead to revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to another Anisa-heavy chapter, especially after the relevant revelations in her rewritten chapter 1.

When I was fourteen, I fought a ten-year-old. 

I lost.

That day, I learned there is absolutely  _ nothing  _ funny about the funny bone. 

Maybe a post-breakfast walk wasn’t the best way to calm my nerves. It’s too easy to think, think, and overthink when all you’re doing is wandering aimlessly with a well-beaten trail to follow. The memory of that old sparring match keeps replaying in my head as I hobble over the uneven rocks interrupting the forest's trail. I couldn’t raise my arm above my head without numbness for a solid week—all because I thought it was a great idea to block a roundhouse kick with my spindly skeleton arms.

Anisa is  **_so_ ** going to kick my ass today.

The trail through the woods Anisa specified made a loop back towards the tower and barracks. As I spot the training grounds, I half wonder if I should just make another loop, infinitely regretting my fast walking speed. That’s when Anisa spots me. Once you make eye contact, you can’t back out. I feel like I walked up to a Pokemon trainer ready for battle.

“Perri! That was a little faster than expected.” She approaches me, ceasing her assault of some poor training dummy. “Are you ready for today?”

No. 

“Sure.”

No, I’m not ready.

“Excellent!” Clapping her hands once, she’s clearly trying to restrain her excitement. At least now I know she hasn’t noticed how I am extremely-very-not-quite-ready for this. I should have never quit martial arts in the 8th grade. The number one reason I never got a history job back home is because they’re just a front for hiring a coach. Seriously, one look at my scrawny ass—

“—So which one?”

“Huh?”

I blink at her. Anisa was gesturing at a rack of various weapons, dulled, scratched, and clearly for training. When we even walked towards this spot, I really don’t recall. Even if she’s not a master, is she seriously trained in  _ all  _ of these? Or maybe it’s just the rack of swords, since that’s the one directly in front of us? It’s time to pick my poison.

“Aren’t you going to like, test me or something first? Hand-to-hand before throwing me into weapons?”

“Well, I suppose we could, though whatever translatable skills a person learns in unarmed combat would be covered in weapons training anyway. It seems a bit redundant.”

“Oh.” 

Curse my childhood of watching 80s Hong Kong action flicks. They have taught me  _ nothing _ . She turns to scrutinize the options.

“Maybe a lighter weapon would be best for your frame… A foil perhaps?”

“This one?” I point at a blunted sword, tapering to what would be a fine point if not for the stopper at the end. I’ve seen several individuals around the town with what look to be smallswords, like some sort of 18th century painting. They seem to be thrusting weapons, not cutting.

The knight lieutenant blinked at me, surprised. 

“I thought you said people don’t use swords in your world.”

“Yeah, that’s true... But they used to.” I know what a smallsword looks like—they have them in museums and documentaries. Those should be accurate. I’ve seen the flame wars about Europeans swords vs katanas on the history portions of Reddit and YouTube. “Maybe that one would be good too?” I gesture to what is presumably a saber, considering its shape and curve. “I think I want to try with a less  _ stabbity  _ sword too.”

You’d think I’d learn to stop opening my mouth as if I actually knew what I was talking about. 

I’ve never handled a sword. Or any melee weapon except that one time I messed around with nunchucks and hit myself in the face. Does being on the receiving end of a bamboo sword count?

Is it too late to switch to archery? I vaguely know about hunting.

I barely remember correct stretching. I haven’t properly exercised since  _ school _ .

That’s like, what—? Five—no,  _ six  _ years of being a lazy bum?

“I’ve brought some practice equipment you can wear as well. Wouldn’t want you to get too hurt on the first day” Anisa smiles, practically raring to go.

Today is the day I die.

The gear is what I would expect, including long padded gloves, some sort of leather cuirass, and full-face mask. I decided to forego the mask until I know if she’ll actually be coming at me with a damn sword today. But considering I have to put this on at all, it’s entirely likely. 

“Alright. So what’s first on the agenda, knight lieutenant?”

“Stance and footwork.”

“Like this?”

I’m not saying I tried to imitate what I saw in the movies, but they totally had backup from all those old drawings, mixed with a bit of what I can logic. Facing her as an opponent, I turn my body, left foot back, holding the sword out with my right hand. My left hand stays near my torso. I’ll be damned if I keep a perfectly useful hand glued behind my back. I resist the urge to bounce on my toes, but just barely.

“Alright, we can work with that. But move your shoulders like this…”

Maybe I won’t come out of this  _ too  _ terribly scathed. 

I’m not sure why I expected a training from Hell. Almost losing my nose to a flying battle axe must have freaked me out more than I thought. Or maybe this is because it’s how I would set up a class—throw them in the deep end first, fish 'em out, then teach basics. It’s a good way to weed out overconfidence. 

Not that I had any.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Imagine you and your opponent in a circle. You want the best angle of attack.” Anisa repositions herself for a thursting strike. “Show me how you would naturally move, and we’ll go from there.”

The morning continued like that, practicing footwork and basic maneuvers. She would send strikes at me to practice, but nothing full speed or force. It looked a lot different from what I’ve seen of sport fencing, though I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise. There’s no stopping when a point is scored, and no straight lines to adhere too. My instinct of moving to the side isn’t as useless as I thought it would be. Honestly, I feel a lot more confident than I did to start. Anisa is a patient instructor.

“You’re aiming too much for the base of the blade—the tip is what’s dangerous so place your control there. Here, come at me.”

Feeling confident, I go for it.

“Shit—!”

—Ouch. 

Just fucking ouch. 

I drop my foil.

The blunted tip of her blade came right at my wrist. The padded gloves dampened much of the impact but it was enough of a shock to my nervous system that I automatically opened my hand and felt a stinging well into my shoulder. I am again reminded how poorly named the funny bone is.

Ah yes, this is why I try to stamp out overconfidence early.

“Oh! Perri are you alright!”

She rushes to me as I grasp my right hand, trying to flex my digits.

“Yeah, I’m good. Can’t feel pain when my arm’s this numb.” I try to give a half-grin, but I can feel my squinting eye turning it into a grimace.

“Oh gods I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d try to move your arms like that.”

“Yeah that’s my bad. I uh, don’t think I’ve exactly processed the fact I’m using a sword yet.”

Did I decide to move right into her position instead of stepping back like a normal person? Why yes, yes I did. Did I try to block with my arm like a lunatic instead of using the foil?  _ Damn straight _ I did.

“Do you need to see a healer?” Anisa hovers over me like a mother hen.

“No, no. You just hit the nerve. I just need a sec to shake it off.” And hope it won’t be wonky for the rest of the week like the last time I took a direct hit to a nerve. “It... might be a good time for a break though.”

“I agree. I think you’re catching on to the basics just as well as a new guard recruit.” But wouldn’t they also be starting from zero? Doesn’t that just mean I’m average? “We’ll make a fencer out of you yet.”

“Thanks.”

I won’t lie, it’s an attractive prospect to be running around like an Errol Flynn swashbuckler. Anisa shields her eyes to look out into the distance, contemplating what’s next. 

“What if we took a little walk towards the shore? I haven’t visited the lake in ages.”

“Do you think we’ll be back before my magic lessons?”

“Hmmm, well I seriously doubt Felix is going to be entirely awake by lunchtime anyway.” Though she huffs, her eyes crinkle in amusement. “There’s a good chance he’ll be late like yesterday.”

“Welp, Sage did say you  _ are _ on vacation. You really should act like it.” 

She forms a warm smile.

“Excellent! Though I wouldn’t exactly call it a vacation. Shall we?”

Leaving the training gear at the barracks, we walk in silence for a time until slowing at a crossroads. Anisa gazes out at a large lake, the late morning light playing across the rippling surface. The path becomes a sandy shoreline. The gentle waves are a vibrant turquoise, the jagged coastline disappearing far beyond my eyesight. It’s much larger than any lake I’ve personally seen, though I have a relatively small reference pool.

“Well, what do you think?”

I peer into the surprisingly murky water. The water must be full of glacial flour to appear so vibrant despite it’s cloudiness. It’s nothing like the muddy rushing river water of my hometown. Tiny, carp-like fish dart around between the dark clouds of moss.

“I’ve never seen water this color in real life, only in pictures. This would be a great spot for plein air painting.” Standing close to the water’s edge, the waves threaten my shoes, but I don’t care. If only I had oil and canvas. Anisa moves to stand beside me. “It’s really pretty.”

I sigh.

“And here I expected a lake monster.”

Anisa shoots me a pointed look.

“You can’t be serious! Did you really expect me to lead you into danger?”

“Oh no no! I just mean it would be cool to find out you had your own version of Nessie. It would be an adventure.”

“Nessie?”

“Ah, well, it’s just a popular legend from back home of a lake monster. Just a fun thought.” I shake my head a little

“Glad to hear it... I can’t imagine how you must feel… so lost and alone in another realm.”

Don’t hit the nail on the head like that. I’d rather not be reminded of it.

“...It’s definitely not how I expected to blow my weekend, no.” The breeze picks up. The trees are mostly green, but there are still hints of flowering. It must be late spring. “It’s not my first time far away from home. Besides, Astarea has some great company.” 

I send her a small smile. She counters me with a bigger one.

“I must admit, I’ve been enjoying your company a great deal as well.”

“Honestly, I appreciate all your help. Even if you did almost turn me into a human shish kebab.”

“Ah, sorry about that.”

“Oh no, you’re fine! You response makes sense! You seem to, uh,” I spin my hand, searching for the words, “have a very  _ engaging  _ job. Do... you encounter many assassins?”

“Yes, well, being a knight can be dangerous. And we’ve had... tensions with certain foreign entities. But I won’t bore you with those right now.”

“I don’t mind. I probably like politics more than is sane.”

“Your hobby is  _ politics _ ?”

“Among others. Like... plants! If I was an assassin I would probably poison you rather than stab you.”

“Then I’ll be sure to never let you cook.”

“Funny. Felix said the same thing.” I roll my eyes and wander along the shoreline.

Anisa constantly hovers nearby, always keeping me within her line of sight. I know she agreed to help protect me, but I hope she doesn’t go overboard.

“Hey, Anisa, check these out.”

I gesture towards a patch of white flowers growing in a bright patch of grass close to the water’s edge. Upon close inspection, the white growths are not petals but rather a spathe encasing the true flower that is the yellow spike. The remaining leaves are a long, pointed, dark green.

“Are these peace lilies? They seem a little off.”

“Those flowers are named ‘blood-drinker lilies.’ No one knows why. Ominous, aren’t they?”

“Huh. Are you sure they don’t grow in blood or something? Like some sort of battlefield flower?”

“I… should certainly hope not.” She turns her gaze towards Mournfall, smile weakening.

What happened five years ago clearly still weighs on her. I grab a few of the blooms, hoping that there’s no issue with the sap or some surprise allergy. The stems are easier to pinch than normal peace lilies. Usually I hate bouquets. But Anisa should find something else to think about. Moving to block her view of the town, the flowers are shoved towards her.

“Here.” Eyes look at me, the flowers, and then me once more. Her look is one of confusion. “I thought they’d look nice on your desk.”

“Oh.”

Green eyes stare at me for a moment too long. Was that a faux pas?

“Did… I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all. It’s just… I’ve never received flowers before… especially not funerary ones.”

“Funeral flowers?” Ah crap. “Well. I suppose I can use these when I dig my own grave.”

“Don’t worry Perri, you are far too kind.”

“This could all be part of my elaborate plot to poison you.”

Anisa chuckles at my rebuff. I open my mouth to speak further but there’s no chance to continue. A massive splashing sound comes from behind me. Looks like I got what I wished for.

The largest damn catfish I have ever seen in my life flops into the air before hitting the surface again with a deafening clap.

“ _ Nessie _ !?”

“We should run!”

There’s sudden burst of a laugh next to me, as my arm is being pulled back towards the pathway. Once we’re back under the canopy of the treeline, I try to will my heartrate to calm down. At least I get enough time to calm my panting.

“What the actual Hell was that!? An  _ actual  _ damn lake monster?”

“The catfish? Oh, no. I believe the locals call her ‘Bigmouth Bertha.’ She’s a bit of a celebrity.”

And people actually  _ go out _ on this damn lake? I take one last breath before forcing a more normal breathing pattern. Only now do I remember I’m still clutching the flowers.

“Imagine the fish fry.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve had your fill of adventures today. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to be later than Felix twice in a row. Then again, at least he’s guaranteed to show up eventually, unlike Sage.”

We start walking back towards the tower.

“You all seem really close.”

“Do we? It’s been five years since we've all seen each other.”

“The full five years?”

“Yes. Since the Starsworn lost their final battle here, in Mournfall. Though I suppose it’s easy to fall back into normalcy in some ways.”

“I get that.”

I can’t help but think of my friends back home. For me, I can easily put a friendship on pause. Sometimes for years. It’ll start back as if little time has passed. But that also means whatever sour note I end up on is where it will pick back up... Did they just think I ghosted them again, and I’ll just come back like the cyclical seasons? Maybe they’ll never notice my absence.

Anisa gets a distant look in her eyes.

It starts as the thousand yard stare. But it morphs into something sharp.

“The Lord of Shadows was an unprecedented force of evil. An inhuman monster of a man. He burned down this town and more. Destroyed families. We all lost loved ones in the war. And what’s worse…” Her voice lowers, steps faltering. “The Lord of Shadows used necromancy to raise the dead to fight against us.”

Oh God.

“So we had to kill our loved ones all over again.”

“My God… That’s… I’m sorry, Anisa.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s all in the past—both the war, and the choices we made. Sage fled, Felix broke down. And I…”

We stop walking. She looks at the trail, not me, letting out a short, humourless laugh.

“I killed the Lord of Shadows myself.”

She looks at me with her features in all the shapes and angles of a confident, subtle smile. But it feels empty. 

“At least it’s over now.” My voice feels soft to my ears.

The look she gives me is strange. I want to hope my words are true. And I hope I don’t  _ ever  _ wield a sword as she has.

But the historian in me should know better. That the past doesn’t go away—it’s never even past.

“I didn’t mean to distract us. We should get going.” Anisa starts moving again, one foot in front of the other. She doesn’t falter.

This time we did beat Felix back to the office. There were no vases conveniently lying around, since again, Anisa had never really had a use for them, but I was able to find a glass suitable enough for the lilies. This isn't my home. It’s not my place to decorate. But… it does make me feel more at peace to have flowers in the space I’ll be residing in for the time being. 

Maybe the flowers were for me as much as they were for Anisa.

“Good afternoon, Perri.” Felix enters with a flourish that I am beginning to realize is standard fare for him. “I take it Anisa wasn’t too hard on you?”

“Well I got my ass handed to me. Which is probably the correct amount of violence.”

The knight in question left a while ago, mentioning something about a possible new assignment. I hope it doesn’t take her too far out of reach. It’s a selfish thought, I know, but I only know three names here. Apparently I didn’t even know the correct name for the flowers I’m tending to. It’s one thing to move out of your comfort zone. It’s another to have most of your scaffolds ripped away entirely.

I  _ hate  _ being so out of my element like this.

I’m going to master my magic if it’s the last damn thing I do.

I run my thumb across the leaves of the blood-drinking lilies. They’re long, but much thinner than a peace lily’s.

“Are you alright?”

Felix is giving me an appraising look. How long was I lost in my own head?

“Huh? Oh. Sorry, just thinking. Don’t mind me.”

“Copper for your thoughts?”

“Sorry, but do you really think I’d sell my one-of-a-kind thoughts on the cheap? That’s bad business.”

He brushes hair from his face, smirking.

“Well I hope you’re ready to direct your mind to more magical pursuits.”

“Right. I guess I haven’t met this week’s quota for personal injury yet. Let’s get it.”

The three of them are good at dodging personal questions.

I should know.

I've... had  _ students _ try this on me before. Of course I have.  _ That's _ where I've seen this behavior before. It must be.

It's not my place to judge. But I can't deny I'm curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may or may not have read a bunch of stuff about historical fencing while writing this. I always figured the highly linear aspect of today's fencing was kinda weird. Like, if something was coming at me in a straight line, what's stopping me from just moving to the side? Well, I found some lovely information on Spanish fencers who historically were infamous for their rad skillz, which is now feeding into my personal headcannons for Anisa.
> 
> I really want to develop Perri in particular, especially through her budding connections and reactions to the people around her. She’s not the most reliable narrator though, huehuehue.
> 
> Side note: So I went through and rearranged elements of previous chapters to accommodate the Anisa rewrite. After much mental debate, I decided base scenes of her old route still work within the confines of this fic. I've gone through and cleaned up any plot elements I think might not match with this new direction, and added hints to things going on in her route that our hapless protagonist might not have the clues to get at yet since she didn't play a very particular fantasy RPG. I'm under the impression that all the major plot elements in each route are all going on regardless of if you pursue that character or not, so I'm trying super-duper hard to keep track of them all and keep things consistent.
> 
> There's also tightened dialogue and expansion on some of the first person details for all the previous chapters.
> 
> Odds are I STILL missed a few typos because it's me.


	10. A Bounty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon chasing a bounty, expect the past to catch you first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Sage-heavy chapter, focusing on the bulk of his chapter one.

Walks have been good for me. Most people interpret my early bird habits as diligence, never noticing how I spend the time before first period only drinking coffee. For thirty minutes. Doing nothing else. I simply require some time to _properly_ wake up before I have to deal with other people. 

“Will you stop with the nonsense prattle? It is far too early in the morning.” 

“All I said is you’ve gotten shorter. Did a ‘grow taller’ spell backfire somehow?”

Did I mention I hate people?

I can hear Felix and Sage bickering as I approach the office door, left slightly ajar. It’s almost as bad as when my mother turns on the morning news full blast, as if she was incapable of silent reading.

“No. Such a spell doesn’t exist.” Felix retorts. I note that sounds very different from the response he gave last time someone called him short. “You must’ve fallen on your head too many times for you to see properly.”

“Not possible. I always land on my feet. That’s what the tail is for.”

“Shall we test it? How does a fall from the tallest tower in Mournfall sound?”

“You mean a Mourn _fall_ —”

“ _Good morning_.” Anisa’s stern voice cuts through the back-and-forth. Nodding pointedly at me when she speaks, everyone else finally registers myself leaning in the doorframe.

“Did you both bicker all morning?” I ask. 

Sage grins. Felix crosses his arms.

“Nothing but friendly banter.”

“He would not stop talking—”

“And you would not stop responding, I assume?” Sage snickers again at my comment. “I swear, you two are like an old married couple.” The merc’s amusement swiftly dies at the suggestion. 

“As if I’d want to stick around the half-pint for that long.”

“Then why bother talking to him at all? You don’t _need_ to talk to him right now, _do_ you?”

It seems Anisa correctly assumes that I, the mature teacher type that I am, is one-hundred percent liable to feed the bickering for my own entertainment. She aims to swiftly shut us all down.

“ _Anyway_ —Perri, there’s tea, if you’d like. It’s cardamom.” I have never once rejected a warm cup yet. It’s incredibly fragrant, and should save me from any caffeine withdrawal headaches. “I have business to attend to this morning, so unfortunately I cannot practice with you. The ambassador from Rivat will be arriving in Mournfall soon, and I am likely the one who will be assigned as their escort. I know you’ve only been here a few days, so this is all very abrupt. But I have little say in the timing of my duties.”

Oh... 

And here I thought I was finally getting a routine figured out.

I always resort to going with the flow. But it’s never by choice.

“Still, I think acquiring more practical skills is worthwhile,” she takes a brief glance at Felix, implication silent. “Magic is difficult to master. I think sparring with Sage or the squires would be good practice.”

The merc’s smile is again wolfish and playful.

“I’m sure I can teach you a thing or two about the _physical_.”

“Uh-huh” I raise a brow.

The other two shoot him venomous glares. He continues, unperturbed.

“But I’ve got my own business to take care of.”

“Oh? What could be of such great import?” Felix scoffs

“I’m a little short on funds at the moment…”

“You pissed away all I gave you within three days!?”

“One, actually.”

“On what? I gave you—Ugh. Nevermind!”

“I’ve debts to pay off, tabs to settle… Not everyone’s got rich parents to bail ‘em out of trouble.”

“That’s hardly fair!”

“Fair? What’s not fair is me getting stuck babysitting!” 

Um, _Excuse me_!? 

“Hoi! I am right _here_ . You want to talk about _fairness_ when I’m the one in the wrong universe?”

I did not ask to be _here_ , sitting in a room with three dysfunctional ex-friends squabbling about how best to ‘protect’ me. If Sage wants to bail, he ought to just do it now and get it over with rather than stringing everyone along for, what— _nostalgia_? At my tone his ears flatten against his head and jaw sets. At least he has the courtesy to look chastised. Nobody speaks for a moment. Shaking his head, he turns away from me to address Felix.

“I don’t need your money. I’ll get coin the best way I know—bounties.”

Felix and Anisa trade wary glances. It’s the knight who speaks.

“You intend to take Perri bounty hunting? Are you quite sure that’s a good idea?”

“Aye, that’s how I learned and I turned out fine. Besides, she’s eager to start learning. Yeah?”

That’s the kind of thing an estranged alcoholic uncle would say before drinking all the wine in the basement and proceeding to start a fistfight at the family reunion. He’s gone back to smiling, but there’s a tension around his eyes as he looks at me, silently asking I go along with it.

What’s the worst that could happen?

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“You can’t be serious!” Felix bristles.

The knight shakes her head, clearly disapproving but leaving me to my choices.

“Please bring Perri back in _one piece_. And before midnight!”

Sage saunters off with a dismissive wave. I follow after him. As we wander through the city streets I catch myself thumbing the rosary in my pocket again. Had I been doing that since leaving the office? 

When we arrive at the tavern, Sage is greeted by several regulars and the instructable bartender pours a tankard of ale with practiced habit. We take a booth near the back. It _still_ smells like stale urine. Why is it all roads lead to The Saucy Gull?

“So, bounty hunting 101?”

I mind my volume, keeping it low. Despite the bustling, jaunty atmosphere, the air between us is more taut than a bow in full draw. Who knows who could be listening? He doesn’t respond to me right away. Instead, Sage takes his drink and throws it all back in a single go.

“Ahhh, much better!”

He slams the tankard on the table as if it was Thor wielding Mjölnir, except he doesn’t even need to demand another drink as the barkeep wordlessly sends us another. Sage looks at me.

“You were saying…?” He smiles, but he’s clearly trying to dance around the issue. “Why the glum face?” He leans forward, deliberately bumping his knee against mine. I jab a foot in his shin. “Hey!”

“Why bother bringing me bounty hunting? If I hired you to ‘babysit’ a kid I would have fired your ass by now.”

“I, ah…”

“Yes?” Brows reach towards my hairline.

“I didn’t mean that. It’s… I work better alone. Spent the last few years that way.” He suddenly finds the white foam in his tankard more interesting to look at. His brows knit. “I’m not safe to be around.”

Not _this_ crap.

Did I land in a JRPG or a telenovela? I roll my eyes and lean back.

“Because I should go follow Anisa today, who, mind you, pointed a _sword_ at my jugular as a greeting.”

“Look… People complicate things… they get in the way. Argh—Look, I’m sorry Perri. I’m no good at this team stuff.” Sighing, he scratches his neck. “Still, I shouldn’t have been such an, uh…”

“Greedy seagull?”

“Nicer than I’d have put it.”

“Dickweed, then?”

“Are you sure you’re a schoolteacher?”

“Ugh. Have you ever _met_ a teenager?”

He laughs at that. I use the opportunity to continue.

“Y’know, I had a feeling this isn’t how you normally do things, and that’s fine. But don’t go around saying you’re gonna do this or that then don’t follow through. I’d rather you give it to me straight.” I run a hand through my hair. It messes up my ponytail. “Sure, Felix paid you, but I’m not a client. You’re supposed to teach me, not just follow me around and dive in front of bullets. I get enough hovering from Anisa. Just, uh, give this a chance, ja?”

I extend my arm across the table. Sharp eyes linger on my open hand before he takes it in his own calloused one, giving a firm shake.

“Deal.”

“Now, give me the low-down on today’s catch. Do we need to do some snooping?”

“No need. Our guy’s right there. Good ole Jackrabbit Jason. Typical small town scumbag, robbing those poorer an’ feebler than himself to get by.”

“And yet he has a nickname like some sort of wise guy.”

“Heh. He’s the dopey human by the bar with the sorry excuse for a beard. Hasn’t budged since we walked in.”

Sage gazes over my shoulder. I shift, following his line of sight. Sure enough, there’s a sus neckbeard seated at the bartop. I half-wonder where they even post info on these bounties when I spot the board plastered with notices right next to the bar. Jackrabbit is sitting _right below_ his own damn wanted poster. I’m trying really hard not to stare. Instead, I place a hand on my forehead. This isn’t a telenovela—it’s a sad _comedy_. My eye twitches.

“How the fuck does this dude even _get_ a bounty on him?”

“He’s got a nasty reputation. Did a real number on the last idiot that tried to get ‘em. Besides, you know what they say about jackrabbits.” A suggestive leer and now trademark grin say all they need to. Though it’d be fun to joke around, I’m not here to entertain that.

“They make a great blood stew.”

“Wha—? _No_. They’re faster than devils. Hard to catch and good at hiding. If we approach him directly, he’s likely to make a run for it.”

“Then how do we catch him?”

“You tell me. You seem to like a thinker type. Make something up.”

Just because my brain doesn’t shut up doesn’t mean I ever use _plans_. 

“What would you normally do? Enlighten me.”

“I just chase ‘em.”

Jack-in-the-Box Jesus. Why did I expect a different answer?

“Fine. Set a trap. _Make_ him run. Funnel him in somewhere where he’s got no advantage and _you_ kick his ass.”

Sage chuckles, far too pleased with himself.

“How’s that for teaching? I’m not half bad at this.”

“In my professional opinion, you’re teaching is shit.”

His ears perk up and eyes widen, ruining the, admittedly, fun mood.

“Damn, he’s onto us.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t—”

I’ve already taken a glance behind me. I thought I could keep it casual with a lackadaisical posture. I lock eyes with the Jackrabbit, half-seated. 

Shit.

He bolts.

Sage leaps after him. I scramble over and make a beeline towards the exit. It’s as the crow flies, using at least one bench and table as a stepping-stool. I shoot the bartender an apologetic grimace. I throw myself through the door before it shuts completely. I haven’t run like this in _years_ —definitely never on the chase. My blood feels like jazz. I’ve kept sight of Sage up to the marketplace. His tail lashes violently.

“Damn, which way’d he go?”

Did we lose him? Wait—!

“—There!”

It’s a clear path of disarray. 

“Let’s go.”

A peddler leaps aside as the Jackrabbit plows through their fruit stand, scattering crates across our path. Sage leaps over it, never missing a step. I stumble, falling behind.

Thing is, I’m a sore loser.

I press on, thinking extra effort will make up for the error. The crowd is too thick in this area, and Sage vanishes. I elbow my way against the current of people, trying to spot any flash of red and white. I’m too short for this. 

“Ugh, _move bi—_!”

An armored hand snatches my wrist.

“There you are.”

Sage starts off again, and I keep pace. Me feeling a little salty this time, he runs slower than before. The Jackrabbit runs himself into a dingy alleyway. A dead end. Sage moves in.

“Nice try, Jackrabbit, but this ends here.”

Sweat beads roll down my neck as I try to catch my breath. Each inhale burns. These two barely look winded. The crook whirls around, an animal backed in a corner. The voice is a snarl.

“Not another step or… or—”

Sage moves in front of me, cool as ever. 

“Or what? You’ll scale that wall like a gecko? Go on, I wanna see you try.”

Jackrabbit Jason pulls a rusty dagger out of his jacket. Maybe what messed up the previous bounty hunters wasn’t skill but tetanus. He lunges at Sage, dagger high above his head. Even I recognize this as sloppy.

“Yaaargh!”

There’s a flash of black and blonde. 

In one motion, a new figure catches Jason’s arm. Twisting, the momentum hurls our mark to the ground at Sage’s feet, simultaneously disarming the sorry sod.

The mysterious newcomer straightens. She looks like trouble. The dangerous kind.

“Skulking in dark alleys meting out justice to those you deem unworthy? Small wonder your hands aren’t stained red from all the blood you’ve spilled.” If looks could kill, Sage would have dropped to the ninth circle of Hell by now. “I’ve seen your heart and it’s blacker than the magic coursing through your veins, Sage Lesath.”

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

Sage draws his sword, and I fall behind him. 

Whoever this woman is, she’s _not_ to be trifled with.

“...Who are you?” Sage’s voice borders on a growl. There’s an ominous heat rising from him.

Like that first night, at the Gull.

“Three years I’ve searched for you, _Red Wraith_. The Night Mother must be smiling on me today.” Red Wraith? Sage is still, save for the erratic twitch in his tail. “You killed someone you called a brother once—someone I loved. You slaughtered him like an animal, then you ran rather than face justice.” She flashes a smile. In a literal blink her eyes change from ice to crimson. “Your life ends here.”

“Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t plan on dying today.”

A flash of metal. Twin swords lunge at Sage. He parries left. Then right. She moves like lightning—relentless. 

“Show yourself, Wraith. Show me the monster that killed my brother.”

In a second, he loses rhythm. She sweeps his sword aside.

“Sage!”

 _Bad move_. Her eyes flick to me.

“Gods damn it. Perri, run!”

“What if I killed this one first? Will you face me then?”

I backpedal. She’s faster. Twin swords come down to strike. There’s a flash of red, and the blow I brace for never comes. Sage is before me again, holding her back, but barely. As his own blade is pushed closer to his throat, there’s an unnatural growl. His eyes go red.

There’s a sick crackling between the locked swords. The black energy makes my stomach lurch. I feel a weight from whatever _it_ is, like a sudden change in g-force. Something unseen pushes the woman back. She hits the wall. Stone crumples from impact. She emerges from the wreckage, unscathed, and angrier than ever. Is this magic? It feels wholly _unnatural_. I get sicker the longer I’m here.

I want to vomit.

“I knew you still had it in you.”

Sage responds with only a glower and ragged breathing.

There’s commotion behind me. Shouts of alarm and attention. We’re still in the market district, so there’s plenty of people around. Her lips twitch.

“It seems we have company. I suppose we’ll have to finish this later.”

She vaults up along the debris, escaping via rooftop. Sage lunges in her direction. I run towards him, blocking his path.

“Sage, _stop_!”

His eyes focus on me. They’re red, and unnatural, and _angry_. So goddamn angry. In all my years, I’ve never seen that much sheer hatred… My heart’s in my throat. I’m ready to run if I need to, but he himself has stopped. He looks a man possessed. I hold my position. Doubling over, a hand covers his face, sword dangling limply in the other.

“Sage?”

He takes two slow, deep breaths. When his eyes open, they are gold once more.

“Perri…”

“...Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” 

_Bullshit_!

Complete fucking bullshit.

He sheathes his sword, looking sidelong at the spectators at the alley’s mouth. Our mark still lies unconscious in the dirt. I guess this isn’t the time for an interrogation. Sage moves to grab the Jackrabbit, tossing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Come on, we’ve got a job to finish.”

The guard were more than willing to part with their coin when we dropped off the deadweight.

As the sky reddened, we headed to the tavern, the day coming full circle. I should have stayed at the tower after turning in the bounty, but I wasn’t in the mood to leave for magic lessons just yet. Dinner was my excuse. Sage barely spoke a word since our encounter with the mysterious woman in black. Sitting at the bar, he traces the various marks in the wooden countertop. Normally I’d say a man is entitled to his own story, to tell to whom he wishes, but once she got a good look at my face I fear got a role in it whether I wanted to or not.

“Who was that woman?”

“...No one important.”

“Oh really? So people jumping out of the shadows hellbent on killing you is an everyday occurance? You seemed awfully important to her.” 

Murder. A man once called brother. The Red Wraith… Is having a crazy unknown backstory a requirement for being a Starsworn? Because all three run around like the past is out to drown them.

“It was just a misunderstanding.”

“An understatement.”

“Leave it be.”

I sigh, and lean in with one arm on the counter.

“Unlike some people my ears aren’t filled with fuzz. I’m not deaf.”

“Sell your sword long enough and some day or another, someone’s gonna come after you. Let’s just say I’ve done a lot I’m not proud of.” He falls silent, resting his head on his wrist to gaze out at the crowd. “There’s no use dwelling on the past. What’s done is done.” 

He punctuates this with a deep drink of whatever the barkeep gave him.

“For what it’s worth… I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there to keep me from running off half-cocked… So, thanks.” He ducks his eyes, scratching the back of an ear.

“Well at least you know your way around a sword, I guess.”

His mirth comes back. 

“You haven’t seen nothing yet. Hells, I can’t seem to go a week without somebody trying to stab me. Guess I’m gonna have to teach you how to fight.”

“Christ… Was that _not_ the whole point of Anisa sending me off with you? Or was there some other skill you were supposed to show me?”

“Oh, I’ve a few other talents…”

“—No.”

“Today, didn’t go exactly as planned. But you were… well, not good. Not bad either. Alright, I suppose.”

“ _Thanks_. I still say you’re a shit teacher, I suppose.”

That makes him chuckle. 

“Drinks are on me.”

“I, uh, don’t drink.”

“What? _Everybody_ drinks.”

“‘Cept me. Though I ain’t got anything against it. Drink up, cowboy. Don’t mind me.”

And he doesn’t. It’s nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perri is trying very hard to not curse, but failing. Some people just bring it out, ja? And on the topic of speech, just what IS Sage's accent supposed to be, anyway? Doctor Who may have taught me that all of time and space is British, but what's Sage gonna say next--"innit bruv?"
> 
> Writing this made me aggressively alternate between the OSTs for Cowboy Bebop and Trigun. Can you blame me though? There's bounty hunting! Overall it's an interesting part of the story. Trying to mix everyone's beginning chapters together has made me realize how much they set up and how much benefit there is playing a route while knowing about the others. I'm just praying the devs don't throw a major monkey wrench that makes each plot wholly incompatible.


	11. A Rumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon a late-night chat, expect reminders of how out of depth you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slower Felix chapter with some heavier thinking from our protagonist then usual. Mostly a rapport builder with slight plot.

In the end, we didn’t get dinner. Or rather, I had a sudden flashback about that first lunch with Anisa and claimed I’d just get something back at the tower. This was said, of course, with no actual confirmation that I’ll find something to eat by this point, but I’d rather skip the misery of that tavern’s menu. The evening walk with Sage was much better than earlier in the day. Conversation’s easy. The sky glitters with indigo. But something’s still nagging at me.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm?” The merc turns to regard me. In the dimness, his eyes catch ambient light, reflecting like a cat’s. They’re the exact same color as Salem’s.

“Earlier, I saw your eyes turn red.”

Sage’s ears flick. I’m a professional buzzkill.

“I’m Ilephta. Sometimes when the light catches our eyes, they seem to change color. But you’ve never met one of us before, have you?”

He’s a professional at bringing  _ only  _ buzz. My shoulders droop as I exhale. Dodging personal questions as before, I see. For the moment I’m fine to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Was it obvious?”

“Well you’ve had this way of starin’ at me since we met. What’re you looking at all the time anyway? My eyes? My teeth? The tail?”

Ah. This is embarrassing but—

“Your ears. They’re just, uh, fuzzy.” I cough into my hand.

Looking at them, I truly understand why the proper response to finding a dog demon with an arrow in his chest wasn’t to check to see if he’s alive or dangerous or ‘ _ oh no that’s not a human _ ’, but to boop those ears. It’s a good thing I have no intent on petting them, for I know for a fact the lack of sound effect would ruin the experience.

He does not grin, but rather smiles.

“...Thanks.” 

“We only have humans back on Earth. So your appearance was a bit of a mind trip for me, not gonna lie. But it is what it is. I think I’m used to it now… Kinda. The magic thing though, that’s going to be harder to wrap my head around.” 

Especially if it involves whatever madness happened today.

“Oh really?”

“Don’t tell Felix.”

“No promises.”

“Right back at you. I’m  _ sure  _ both Felix and Anisa would  _ love  _ to hear all the details about today’s little escapade.”

There’s light from within the office. Felix is hunched over Anisa’s desk with a kerosene lamp, poring over an old book. Was he here the whole time? Oh crap—he wasn’t waiting on me, was he? Maybe he’s just been researching. That is presumably how he’s spent the mornings these past couple days.

“Good evening, Perri. It heartens me to see you back in one piece. I trust your hunt was a success.”

“More or less. It, uh, was definitely an  _ adventure _ , for lack of a better word. You weren’t waiting for me this whole time, were you?”

“Well, I had suspected Sage was liable to get you into some trouble and keep you out for a considerable while.”

“Ohhh... Sorry.”

Well now I  _ do  _ feel like guilt-laden trash. 

“You must be tired. I’ll take my leave.” Felix starts to push off the desk.

“Wait—is there anything you want me to review for tomorrow?”

“Review?”

“Yeah, any chapters I should look at, maybe as a preview or something?”

“That is not necessary. You... catch on to the concepts quickly enough so I don’t see the purpose of staying up late for content you’ll see again in a few hours anyway. Besides, I’m told you wake quite early.”

“Old habits die hard.” I shrug. “Still, I don’t usually sleep until late anyway.”

“That hardly seems healthy.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Or out of a job—same difference. Now are you going to give me make-up work or not?”

Irreverent, I stand with a hand on my hip, twirling a piece of hair, trying to make a point. Choosing the most inopportune moment possible, my stomach growls.

Oh.  _ Right _ .

The mage looks at me as if  _ I _ was the adult-child here.

“Did you even eat?”

“I… ate breakfast.”

He lets out a heavy breath and gets up from behind the desk. 

“Wait here. I believe I can still procure something from the kitchens.”

I’m about to protest when I think better of it. Never shall I say no to free offerings of food. Sighing, I instead trade the cloak for a stray throw-blanket and sit at the table. My planbook was sitting there for the past few days, untouched, but visible, as if trying to mark space as mine. It’s a selfish endeavor. I empty my pockets of their contents, placing them on the table. There are far too many wrappers and I have no proper place to throw them away. I glare at the pile. Probably shouldn’t be keeping them in the same mass as my rosary and eyeglass cloth. I sweep the foils into my bag, leaving the remaining items on the table next to the strange lilies.

I look at the stems through the glass. There’s a nearly invisible layer of film forming around the healing wounds. When I plucked the flowers I aimed low near the base. It must have had aerial roots. This region does seem drier, more Mediterranean, than home—perhaps this species is aggressive when it comes to water consumption?

“Hmm… I wonder if that’s why they’re called blood-drinkers...?”

“Were you the one who picked the flowers?”

Felix returned a lot faster than expected. Then again, he likely knows this complex better than I, since before it was filled with guards and knights it was a base for Starsworn.

“Eh—? Oh, yes. I found them by the lake. I thought they were peace lilies at first, but I should have known better since they were in such a sunny spot… A peace lily would have lost the white color of it’s spathe.”

He leaves a large cloth wrapping on the table. Inside is an assortment of breads. I tear one open to find a meat filling. They’re reminiscent of the pork buns at the Chinese bakery across the river. I take a bite. If only they were warmer… I’m assuming these are for guards who work the late shift. Or leftovers.

“Is botany a hobby of yours?” He regards me with a curious expression, as if remembering something from a long time ago. It feels like saudade.

“Yeah. So I won’t apologize if I start to ramble.”

“That explains how you recognized several poisonous plants in that cookbook.”

“Everybody needs a hobby. Dangerous plants just happen to be mine.” My voice sing-songs. Though, my mom’s most certainly killed all the plants I’ve left with her. “And what of you, Herr Nekromant? You don’t have some stereotypical hobby like taxidermy, do you? ‘Cause that would be too obvious.”

He blinks at me. I blink back. His ears start to turn a little redder.

“Wait no—really!? That is such a serial killer hobby.”

“It is not!”

“Hun, I used to study serial killers. I  _ know  _ what I’m talking about.” I put on an air of mock haughtiness. Well, mostly mock.

“Is that not more suspicious?”

“I already said I grow weird-ass plants. Do you think I have any shame about my hobbies?” At his indignant expression, I give an uneven grin. “I’m just messing with you so don’t think too much of it. Lord knows I have no right to judge.” He’s too easy to tease. Now I understand why Sage does it all the time. I take a bite of bread. Looking towards the window, I catch glimmers of the city lights below. “Besides… budding psychopaths prefer to mess with living animals more than dead ones. Death is just a result of their inclinations.”

He crosses his arms. That… must have been a very creepy thing to say at the dinner table. Thankfully he doesn’t look too perturbed, albeit taken a little off-guard.

“And you called  _ me  _ morbid.”

“Takes one to know one. I daresay I should put ‘morbid’ on my résumé. Y’know…” I shift to use my right arm as a pillow, left hand drumming on the lesson planner. “It’s been my strongest rapport-builder. Scare ‘em straight. They’ll never admit it but the kiddos like strange facts. Respond well to shamelessly weird people too... Hmm. I remember when I was a student teacher I made one of my infamously bad jokes, but somehow it made them think I was some sort of high class drug-dealer. The rumor spread around the school, and I didn’t do anything to stop it. It was useful. Heh… They never really caused problems after that.”

My expression has gone slack. It’s late, and I’m slowly giving up putting further energy into it. Though I’m not looking, I can feel his eyes on me. I probably seem the poster child of melancholy, listlessly reminiscing while tracing patterns with my finger.

“You seem happy to talk about them.”

My fingers stopped. 

I  _ do _ ?

Well, I do feel like these are happy memories. 

Very few have ever commented that I  _ look  _ it though. The night hour must be ruining my otherwise perfect air of sarcastic inscrutability. I don’t look up when I respond.

“They were good kids. Assholes. But good kids.”

“Do… you miss them?”

His look is similar to the one Anisa gave me at the lake. 

Do I truly look that lost to everyone else? 

I guess I am. 

But that’s no reason to  _ show  _ it. Enough of that.

Smacking the table, I sit up.

“Nah. I expect the kids to come and go. I’m probs just a mildly quirky footnote to a majority of them. Consider yourself lucky. Being responsible for one person is a lot easier than a hundred-plus.” Straightening, I grab another bun, turning it in my hand before figuring it’s probably the same as the last one. “Oh, and thanks... for all your help. You didn’t have to agree to teach me magic or about Astarea.”

“Yes, well, I promised to get you home. And that cannot be fulfilled if you wander off into some abyss somewhere, or are whisked away because you were wearing suspicious clothes.”

Wait— 

When I was in the market, the money pouch Anisa was using looked an awful lot like the one he threw at Sage... Inhaling, I close my eyes for a moment. Now I feel even more in debt to him than before. 

“Either way, Felix, you have my thanks. Particularly with the free food.”

Clearing his throat, his look is one of amusement.

“You are most welcome.”

“Though, speaking of Astarea, I did hear something interesting today… Have you ever heard of The Red Wraith?” I try to keep my tone curious. There’s no immediate need to bring up the details of today’s incident. Not  _ yet _ , at least.

Felix pauses. Steepling his fingers, he leans his elbows on the table.

“Indeed, I have. The Red Wraith was a foul beast driven by an unbridled lust for blood. It was rumoured to haunt the streets of Porrima by night. In truth, I’ve not heard a word of it in years.”

Years. That woman said three years...

“So it’s just an urban myth?” I ask, praying that’s the answer.

Rubbing his glasses on his shirt, he folds them into his jacket.

“I’d wager the Red Wraith was a legend designed to frighten naughty Porriman children into minding their manners. Or some foolish patrician’s pet lapwyvern cut loose.”

“The Red Wraith is real.” 

Anisa stands in the doorway, arms holding freshly laundered blankets.

“My old captain Ajax saw it once.” She shoulders the door shut behind her. “It was one of those wintery nights when fog blankets the harbor. Ajax was on patrol when he heard a howl. He thought it was the wind until the screaming started. He followed the screams to the dockmaster’s office. The door was in splinters. The floor slippery with blood. He saw a massive, shadowy beast… feasting on the dockmaster’s remains. Ajax said he’d never forget the beast’s eyes—like two embers burning red in the dark. He ran. The next morning they found the dockmaster— _ most _ of him anyway—strewn all over the piers.”

That is…  _ gruesome _ . Did that really happen?

The mystery woman called Sage the Red Wraith  _ outright _ , but that can’t possibly be him.

Can it?

I don’t know the rules of this world. I don’t know much of  _ anything _ .

And I  _ hate _ not knowing things.

“Tch, sounds like a tall tale to me. Any feral beast could have done that.” Felix replies.

She sets the blankets on the couch.

“Yes, but the Wraith only preyed on the wicked. The old dockmaster was famously corrupt. I’ve never heard of a monster with morals. Have you?”

This just keeps getting stranger and stranger. Though my eyes follow Anisa’s movement, I can see Felix turn towards me in my periphery before speaking up.

“Regardless, you needn’t be afraid, Perri. We are far from Porrima. And myths can do you no harm.”

“Oh, shame. I suppose at least I have another story to add to my personal library. I shall be sure to tell my future children all the gory details before beddie-bye.”

Anisa shoots me a quizzical look.

Felix smirks.

“Until then, I wouldn’t recommend too many more misadventures. We do need to work on your magic, after all.”

“Actually, about that—maybe it would be best if all of tomorrow was focused entirely on magic? If that’s okay with you.” It is my top priority after all. I need to make up for lost time.

“Of course. Good night, Perri.”

“Night.”

Though I was starting to feel comfortably tired in the midst of conversation with Felix, the topic of the Red Wraith was a shot of caffeine to my mind. This world is  _ teeming  _ with magic, and cat people, apparently. Is shapeshifting a possibility? Maybe it’s just a moniker, like the Dread Pirate Roberts? Or even an insult, that mystery woman trying to draw comparison between Sage and an infamous monster? Once more, I am reminded of how out of depth I truly am. And it pisses me off.

Felix explained the basics of using magic yesterday. Unfortunately, my attempts at actually performing it were abject failures, even with his guidance.

I can’t sleep in this state.

Grabbing several candles, I light them in a row in front of the fireplace and sit on the floor before them. At its core, magic is just influencing the world around me. I know what a flame  _ is _ . If I can just tap into it—connect somehow—then maybe that would be the thing that’ll jumpstart my ability to cast properly.

Fire breathes. Maybe I should try breathing with it?

I stare at the flame. 

It’s red, orange, and tinged with blue. A warmth emanates from it. 

It flickers.

Breathe in. 

Breathe out.

I stare at the flame some more…

The energy warps the image directly above the colored light.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I… I realize I don’t actually know how to meditate.

Like, that is what I’m trying to do… right?

It was a long night. And I did not emerge a firebender from it. Sleep was sporadic at best. Sometimes I’d give up, get twenty minutes of shut-eye, and then wake groggily coming up with another idea on ‘how to clear my mind’ and try again. Thing is, making ideas is the opposite of that. The morning came, and as is now our routine, Anisa makes a large pot of the blackest tea she has. It’s warmth makes me forget the chill of my wet hair from a quick rinse.

On my walk, I consider making a beeline to the lake, as if swaying with the water’s push and pull under the morning moon would help me make literal waves. I think better of it. Lactic acid’s burn still fills my legs from yesterday’s exertions, though the walk helps flush some of it out. By the time I’m back in the study Felix is already there chatting with Anisa. He cleans his glasses with his shirt again. I hand him an eyeglass cloth. It just doesn’t do to have fingerprints and smudges on lenses like that. 

“Geez, you’re ‘bout as bad as my mom,” I tell him.

I insist that he keep it. 

Witnessing his careless eyewear maintenance would grind my gears to no end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people don't like being reminded how out of their element they are. Our protagonist probably counts as one of those people.  
> It often makes you cling to the things you do know. Like carnivorous plants. And being accused of drug-dealing in a shitty public school.
> 
> And yes, she is 100% trying to see if copying Avatar training techniques works. She'll try anything at this point.
> 
> Gosh, we're close to Felix's first real chapter. After that I'm going to need to pick a ship ㅋㅋㅋㅋ.  
> But never fear! I enjoy friend squads too much to leave the rest of the party behind if I can help it.


	12. A Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon using metaphorical explanations, expect misunderstanding at the lack of context.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we have entered the last of the beginning route chapters.

“How fares your progress?”

“Well it’s, uh, it’s farin’.”

It’s the fifth night since landing here. Each evening has been filled with the study of magic in one way or another. Nearly a week in, usually a class would start to get in the swing of things—maybe have the basic skills covered, be ready to start the first serious unit, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

But here I am, staring at a freakin’ feather. 

It’s been a _goddamn_ hour.

Felix is peering at me over his half-moon glasses, using my self-practice time to skim over his own research.

“This stupid feather hasn’t budged or floated or, I dunno—exploded!” I probably muttered _winguardium leviosa_ twenty times by now, with extreme aggression. The feather in question accentuates my increasing gestures. “How am I going to magic myself home if I can’t even cast _one_ spell? _Susmariyosef_! Are you _sure_ there aren’t any—any teleporting ruby slippers or something somewhere? Ugh!”

I chuck the feather, only for it to defy the force of my throw with a gentle descent, landing barely a foot in front of me. It’s trying to spite me, isn’t it?

The mage gives me one of his inscrutable looks before giving a smug half-smile.

“Well, well, well, I had not imagined my apprentice so easily flustered.”

“Ugh. Bite me, grandma glasses...” I mutter, blowing stray hair from my face.

“Do not give into frustration. After all, ‘Naar Vilar was not built in a single day.’”

“Rome.”

“Hmm?”

“‘Rome wasn’t built in a day.’ I’m assuming that’s the equivalent adage?”

He shuts his book, easing the spectacles off his nose to hang via a cord.

“An old Velan saying. Have patience, Miss Bostic. We’ll harness your magic yet.”

Oh, don’t use my professional address against me, mage. It’s... too effective… I take a deep breath. I am, _as always_ , perfectly calm. I don’t need any calming tea. I do not, in any way, greatly wish with the utmost desire to have jasmine tea.

I hum, “And what about you, O illustrious one? Did you struggle?”

“I practically emerged from the womb slinging spells. Of course, that was on account of my… Unusual circumstances. Why, before my second year, I gave my caretaker quite a scare.” That mischievous glint in his eye has been cropping up more and more during these lessons. “Dear Anat happened upon me in the nursery where I had set all of my toys aflame.”

“You… _what_?”

That wins me a dry bark of laughter. Great. So he was _born_ a destructive prodigy.

“Yes. I’m told she nearly quit on the spot. No harm was done… well, except the dolls.” He takes a respite from laughing to sigh, but the mirth is still infectious. “Oh how I cherished those melted monstrosities.”

“And I thought I was weird with my childhood doll resale.” I remember my own misadventures with Barbie capitalism, but _fire_ is for older kids well past doll-age. _Fire_ is for the kid that tried to ruin the homecoming game. Felix’s commentary lightens the mood, but doesn’t remove the problem at hand. “Are you one-hundred percent sure I can even wield magic? Maybe that Relic is just freeloading.”

“Don’t be absurd. Even now I can sense your magic.” Elbows on the desk, he steeples his long fingers, leaning forward with rapt attention. The center of that attention being _me_... “Exquisite power burns deep within your breast like a smoldering ember. Once you are ready it will spark, leaping into flames.”

That’s… a lot of belief in me, judging from that intense gaze. The flickering of the fireplace tints his irises with an orange warmth. For once, I think I’d lose this staring contest. Hell must have frozen over for that to happen. Instead I look to the fireplace and exhale.

“A spark, huh…”

“That’s it!” “Hold on!”

There’s a loud clamor as we speak simultaneously. Apparently we both felt the need to slam hands against something as punctuation. Both of us blink. I speak first, yielding.

“Ah. Okay, Felix-Teacher. You first.”

He clears his throat. “What you require is a spark, a catalyst!” A book wiggles free from a shelf, landing gracefully in his palm and fluttering to his chosen page. “For some, magic comes as easily as breathing or blinking. For others, well… I suggest you never ask Sage to demonstrate his _talents_.”

Noted.

“So you have some technique to jumpstart my magic?”

“It’s not that simple. This is your battle, Perri. You have the potential, all you lack is know-how. And that, I can provide.” The smirk returns. “As I like to say, ‘knowledge is the sharpest blade of all.’” Continuing, I can tell he’s about to start one of his long-winded tirades. “Why during my years at a most prestigious institution of the arcane arts…”

“Wait wait. Ok, let’s back up.” I bring my hands together, bobbing them up and down for emphasis. “So, lemme get this straight—you say I need a spark, yes?” 

“Correct.”

“And then you tell me to just... find it myself? Do you have any advice on how to _do_ that, precisely?”

“Ah, well. That part of magic is highly… internalized. If I may be frank, it’s not something that can be easily expressed in words.”

“I think that’s been established. Otherwise I probably would have figured this out on my own by now...” I run a hand down my face. 

“And what, pray tell, were your thoughts?”

“You used the word catalyst. I was thinkin’ that maybe I needed an _external_ catalyst.”

“External?”

“Like in chemistry—a third agent. Again, I have no idea what I’m doing. If that part of magic is very, _feel-y_ , then I have zero context as to what that’s supposed to feel like. I would assume that even the average Joe Schmoe here would still be able to recognize magic by feel. But for me I dunno if what I’m getting is magic or indigestion.”

“Believe me when I say those would be two very distinct sensations.”

“And how would I know that? Sometimes when you touch something freezing cold it feels identical to a burn. The nerves get overwhelmed without context or acclimation. It’s... it’s feeling like—like if I ate a random handful of Skittles at once—how am I supposed to tell how many were strawberry, or if there were any at all?” I fiddle with my collar, my hand instinctively hovering near my heart. “That Relic... It was so foreign in my chest I couldn’t parse out the feeling. I’m not even sure if it was pleasant or painful. Maybe I felt nothing at all and tricked my senses into it.”

If I could just separate the feelings, like eating one Skittle flavor at a time, then I’d have something to work with. Staring into the fire, I try to remember that feeling, but it’s nebulous, like trying to shape smoke with fingers. My other hand’s in my pocket, running across the edge of a quarter. I attempt to listen to my pumping heart. In a beat, my ears buzz. The room starts to sway, as gravity had suddenly pulled all the blood down from my head into my feet. My face and neck are cold. I take a sharp breath, willing it to pass. As per usual, it doesn’t work. I blink rapidly. When I shake my head, it gets worse.

“Are you feeling well? You look a bit unsteady.” Felix lowers his book to look at me.

“I’m fine. Just peachy…” My voice wavers. 

That symptom’s never happened before.

The mage’s brows knit as he appraises my condition.

“Magic takes a heavy toll on both mind and body alike. You must take care not to enervate yourself.”

Looks like my insistence on practicing magic for hours on end has finally come to bite me in the ass. But Felix looks completely normal. Not once has he floundered. Ignoring the emotional distress and bad poeticism, even when he summoned me he looked… Oh.

“...Is that why you confused me with someone else when we met? Call me crazy but I would assume nabbing someone from another dimension would take a lot of energy.”

What was the name…?

Felix’s cheeks turn the reddest I’ve seen them, and the corner of his mouth twitches downward.

“Oh! T—that? A—as you know exhaustion comes in many forms… dizziness, weakness, even hallucinations!” He coughs into his hand, keeping his arms close in front of him as much as politely possible. The embarrassment is so palpable _I’m_ feeling embarrassed for bringing it up. Has he always been prone to this stuttering? “T—the hour grows late. Let’s call it a night.”

Rounding the desk, he begins collecting the various volumes and knickknacks he brought with him this morning, with way too much frantic energy for this late at night. He plucks a floating teacup from the air, aiming to finish it’s contents. Everytime I look at the thing I feel like I’m _the_ Sorcerer’s Apprentice, honestly surprised I haven’t yet seen the dishes wash themselves.

My dizziness subsides, if only slightly. And the parts of my consciousness the wooziness leaves untouched are somehow dragged down with an unnatural grogginess. I need to lie down. But wait... I still never finished explaining my sparky spark skittles thing.

“Can I taste your magic?”

He sputters into his tea.

That line made more sense in my head. 

“What!?”

Whipping around to face me, he elbows a teapot off the desk. We lunge for it. Seconds after my hands are on it, Felix’s are atop mine.

“Oh!” His hands snap back. He gives them a quick shake before messing with his hair, giving this strange nervous chuckle all the while. “M—my thanks. I’ll, uh, take my leave.” So he does. With an unusual amount of haste in his footsteps, as they echo down the corridor.

 _What the hell was that_?

“See you tomorrow!” I yell after him.

He pauses to give a rushed “Yes, yes. Until then,” before scurrying off.

Well, shit. 

I think I successfully disturbed the _necromancer_.

Gingerly placing the teapot on the desk, I notice his cup is still suspended in the air. Plucking it from it’s levitation, I leave it on the top of a spellbook stack. Wouldn’t want it to come crashing down in the middle of the night. Glancing at my watch, it’s only eight-forty-five, but I’m tired enough to sleep. _I’m old_. Tripping on the rug, I land on the couch anyway. Curled up in a pile of blankets, I remember—

Rime.

The name was Rime…

Sometimes I still wonder if I might be dead, brought back to life by accident. A result of bad aim.

In a place meant for someone else.

With Anisa’s preparations for the ambassador, Felix’s worry about overexerting my magic, and Sage being, well, _Sage_ , the next morning had gotten off to a slow start without any actual goals—not that I minded. This is probably the most daytime I’ve had to myself since arriving in this brave new world. I meander along a forest path that I had spotted from the office window. For the first time in a very long while I actually get around to some life drawing in the field. Before I hadn’t really felt the urge to do so often, but since landing in Astarea I’m always wanting to reach for a pencil. There’s a clearing, and I find a spot on a sun-baked boulder, pull out a string and pencil, and get busy.

The woods fascinate me, in all honesty. My hometown is plains and flatlands, a single stroke is all the linework I need to finish one of those landscapes. Here it’s all vertical lines contrasting with diagonal beams of light breaking through gaps in the canopy. The trees know where each other’s branches are, and grow accordingly. And the palette— 

“Perri!”

Anisa calls out to me from the shade of a mossy tree. Sage is not far behind. Considering his jovial mood and her eagerness to greet me, she must have been fending off his teasing attitude for a while now.

“Morning you two.”

“If it isn’t our budding mage. Felix tells me you’re making real progress.”

For real? The look I give her is deliberately one of suspicion. 

“He _said_ that?”

“Heh. I seem to recall he used far less flattering words—” Sage starts. Anisa cuts him off, side-eying him.

“I’m sure you’re doing great. Learning magic is hard. And _some_ of us have still not mastered it.”

Sage’s grin widens, immune to Anisa’s verbal jab.

“Oh, I’ve mastered many things. You ever get bored learning about the mystical arts—Ow!”

She sends a swift elbow to his ribs.

“Must you always be such a dog?”

“Eh, worth a shot.”

One of these days I’m going to say ‘yes’ to Sage just to mess with him. “Right. Imma get going.” Today is not that day.

“One moment—when you see Felix, please give him this. I’m told it arrived this morning.”

An envelope with a thick wax seal is placed in my hands. The insignia pressed into the red wax gives an air of formality. There’s a snake twined round a staff—a caduceus. I doubt the meaning behind this symbol has the same intent, but it’s befitting. Regardless, it must be from someone of import if they are not using initials.

“Can do. Catch you later.”

It’s probably about time I get ready for whatever lesson Felix has cooked up for me—and explain what skittles are. The study door is cracked open ever so slightly, and I catch a glimpse of his own books already piled on the floor. I guess the mage is early this time. I put on my best AOL voice for my own personal amusement.

“You’ve got mail—”

There’s a low snore. Felix is very much here, but draped over the desk, arms folded over a book. But, he’s asleep. I softly close the door, making sure the latch doesn’t click, and fox-walk to minimize any sound. Dropping the letter on the couch, I grab a throw blanket. Circling the desk, it’s apparent that he’s completely out, this back gently rising and falling with each languid breath. He looks peaceful.

I huff.

And he’s using the freakin’ book as a pillow.

I’ll let him sleep. 

Those damn glasses are barely hanging in there though, perched precariously on the tip of his nose at an odd angle. For how much he likes them he always finds some way to smudge them. Perhaps I can move them without disturbing him. Blanket draped over one arm, the other reaches over the desk, and just barely graze his glasses—

“Nnnh…”

One of his hands loosely encircles my wrist. My hand is guided to his cheek. He sighs into my palm. There’s a contented smile on his lips as he nuzzles into my hand… What… How—? Do I just stand here? Can I sneak out of this? WhatdoIdowhatdoIdo!? My eyes are darting around the room as if that would somehow improve my thinking—which of course it fucking _doesn’t_.

This is _embarrassing_. 

His eyes flutter open, blearily starting to blink at me.

“Morning, lo—ah, oh!” He sputters and spurts. “M-my apologizes.”

Dropping my hand like a hot coal his careless haste knocks over an empty teacup and sends a quill flying. I realize I’m holding my hands in front of my chest like some pigeon-toed kid but I can’t quite figure out a better pose. What’s more casual, hands at my side? No, that’s too stiff—

“I was just uh…” he trails off.

The blanket!

I flip it over the desk at him. On impact, he sputters some more.

“Slacking off?” I ask. 

Wrestling himself out from under the blanket, his expression is as stuttering as his grumbles. 

“Never! I’ll have you know I arrived early, I must have dozed off…”

“Seems like you were having a nice dream.”

“Was I…?”

A yawn escapes, and he shifts to rub the corner of his left eye. Again, glasses shifting to another crooked angle. Part of me is tempted to just yank the damn things off him before he breaks them, but I can’t seem to uncross my arms at this particular moment. I settle for rolling my eyes instead.

“Pulled an all-nighter?” I shift my weight against the edge of the desk. “If you need, we can cancel lessons today…”

“I’ll be fine. All I require is a little sustenance.”

Upon finding the nearby tea kettle empty, he frowns.

“Can’t you, oh, I don’t know, magic up a cup of coffee?” Picking up the quill, I make a swish and flick motion as if it were a wand. Felix sniffs and eases off his glasses.

“Imagine if any spellcaster could simply conjure coffee from thin air… The implications for the economy alone are mind boggling.”

“I’m sure the market would find equilibrium eventually.”

Poking at a plate of this morning’s pastries, he prods at a stale scone.

“I haven’t fallen asleep in my books since… well, since I was a student. I used to lose myself in study, even slept in the library once or twice…” A half-smile appears. “I never imagined I’d almost miss those days.”

The scone crunches. 

“You haven’t told me much about magic school here. Is that more or less common than an apprenticeship?”

“Apprenticeships are relatively rare these days unless the area of study is highly specialized or small.”

“Did you just study magic, or core subjects too? Oh, did you ride a broom like in the stories?”

“No—Why the hells would anyone ride a broom? That sounds terribly uncomfortable… I studied history, political science, etiquette. It was all very dry.” His gaze shifts to me and he fully registers who he was talking to. “Er—not that the subjects themselves are uninteresting. It was mostly due to the professors.”

“Nice save.” I start dragging the nearest chair towards the desk.

“We spent two semesters on Harri tea ceremony practices alone!”

“So I shouldn’t slit my wrists and dance naked in the moonlight just to fit in?” 

There’s a crack as he straightens his back, wincing. 

“You, my friend, have some very strange ideas about mages.” The tone shifts. “Being a highborn mage comes with certain expectations… I knew the path I was to follow from a very young age. I enrolled in the academy, excelled until I didn’t and found myself alone and penniless in dire straits…”

“Uhm, hold the phone. I feel like you’re skimping on some tea here.”

“Tea—?”

“—Drama!” I slap a hand on the desk “I love any story that isn’t _mine_. C’mon, spill it.”

Blowing a strand of hair from his face he sighs.

“Well I… ah, that is to say…” He starts fidgeting with the scone. I look at him expectantly, shifting to rest my head in my palms. “Alright, fine. I admit it. I was expelled.”

“And what did you do?” I draw out the last syllable. He gives a soft chuckle.

“What _didn’t_ I do? I was a regular menace. Can you imagine spending nearly sixteen years being told what to think, how to behave, how to live… I grew tired of all the stuffy academics, the haughty, shallow aristocratic brats—The starched collars, the itchy cardigans, the colour-coordinated blazers. After so many years of being told what to do, I decided to live on my own terms.” His full smirk returns. “And thus, I sought to sabotage myself.”

Oh ho ho.

“Please tell me it was chaos.”

“Naturally. What bored teenager doesn’t love a good show? Once, I loosed a pair of chimeras in the dorms, labelled one and three.” He pops a bit of solid frosting in his mouth. “I will not divulge how I got expelled… but let’s just say that it was _epic_.”

“What!? You can’t hold out on me like that! I—Otherwise I’ll keep your mail.”

“Mail?”

I go to grab the sealed envelope from earlier. Something is putting him on edge. Was he expecting a letter?

“Anisa handed it to me. Said it was for you.”

He snatches the letter from my extended arm. One glimpse at the seal and his mouth is drawn taut. 

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” He spoke too quickly to be believed. The letter bursts into a gout of bright green fire and once it’s properly burned out of existence the mage dusts his hands with a huff. “It’s as though the very universe itself conspires to annoy me today.”

Something is up with that letter. 

But it’s not my business. Hopefully.

The door slams open—it’s Sage. It surprises Felix enough that he’s spilled a bit of tea on the desk. He groans in annoyance.

“What do you want? Perri and I are quite busy, you know.” Another bite of scone is added for emphasis. 

Sage is uncharacteristically serious.

“We’ve got to move. Another interloper turned up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, knocked two chapters out in a single week? I'm on a roll with the increased social distancing rules ruining my outside plans. Listening to dark academia royaltycore probably helps too.
> 
> There is no way our protagonist would have used either the magic school or Escell dialogue options before Felix sputters into his tea. Nope! She'd use an even STUPIDER one. And then start quoting Hawke (purple, naturally). But it's ok, because she is never, ever, in any circumstances, frustrated. Ultimate poker face. In no way is this all a facade, and she is a completely objective narrator. /s
> 
> /cough/And did someone use Tagalog?/cough/


	13. A Necromancer's Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon finding stolen souls and dark magic, expect a chill to set in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, end of everyone's beginning chapters, with this being the end of the Felix chapter one and the Celena incident.

“Where exactly is this infirmary again?” asks Felix.

We climb the stairs of a distant wing, out of the way of the main hall’s bustle of knights and guards. Still, there’s plenty of activity from the occasional healer or patient. I’m unsure how much of this building qualifies as the infirmary, as we’ve just come to the third floor with no change in pace. The whole thing has me on edge.

Another person from Earth… 

In my flurrying crash course on Astarea, I had forgotten all about that moment in the Gull, on that first night. I can’t believe I forgot. There was a small piece of me who thought it was a hallucination. Yet, I didn’t even _say_ anything to anyone, even though I should have after recruiting Sage that night.

I honest-to-God _forgot_.

How strained must my mind be these days to let something so _critical_ slip through the cracks? 

I can remember which twenty students out of a hundred have peanut, milk, and egg allergies yet cannot keep a _single_ person’s existence in my consciousness? I kept behind Sage and Felix. If it wasn’t for the fact I had no clue exactly which room this person was kept in I would have ran to them as fast as possible. Even if my legs gave out from the stairs and felt of that lactic burn and—

Ice.

 _It was cold_. 

It was a warm spring day and it was colder than the deepest circle of Hell.

An unnatural coldness, like my veins were ready to shatter, as if frostbite could start in your core and work it’s way out. The one thing that was warm was my heart, feeling like it was about to be smothered. I force myself to move and keep my face neutral, jaw set, hands in my jacket pockets. A shadow moves in the corner of my eye. My vision is drawn to it. A tall, cloaked figure casually descends the stairs, without even turning their head. But I could feel a gaze like death.

“Perri?”

I heard Felix.

Had I stopped moving?

He peers at me from a few steps above. The chill recedes.

“I’m fine.”

I refuse to look back. I _felt_ like I saw a ghost.

Was it a hallucination?

No. _It can’t be_ . I ask myself everyday I wake up here if this is all a wild fever dream. And something about _that_ particular moment felt so unnaturally _wrong_ there’s no way the human mind could create it on it’s own. If this keeps up I might start believing in Providence if only out of pragmatic fear, like some warped version of Pascal's Wager. My hand hurts as I realize how tightly I’ve gripped the metal crucifix of my mother’s rosary. Nanay’s rosary.

Anisa lets us into a small single room.

I do know the face.

But it’s different somehow. Her skin is ashen, a strange tint around her forehead, though that may have been the shadows of her silvery bangs. It could be the light, but her irises are reddish, focused downward at her hands folded in her lap. Her outfit is very much the generic anime cosplay… The same she was wearing when I saw her last, passing through the busy city hub. But why do her ears seem awfully real…?

“Celena…?” My voice feels dry in my throat.

She swallows, but says nothing.

“You know her?” asks Anisa.

I nod.

The knight steps in, making sure to keep her face and voice friendly and polite. 

“Nice to meet you, Celena. You may not know us, but we’re here to help you.”

She offers a hand, but Celena shrinks back. Felix goes straight to the questioning.

“Do you perchance know how you came to this realm? Or who brought you here?”

She keeps to her silence, and refrains from eye contact. This isn’t working, they may not realize the extent of it but they’re pressuring her. I kneel in front of her at her chair, peering upward. Calming others is nothing new… but why is there a pit in my stomach?

“Do you recognize me? Perri—From the station. Taking the same train.”

“...Perri? I—I remember you.” There’s a brief flick of her eyes on me before lowering again.

“Oh good! How do you feel?”

“I…”

She glances at the trio behind me. I stand to face them.

“I think you should go.”

Felix opens his mouth to retort, but Sage speaks first.

“She… might not appreciate a bunch of strangers breathing down her neck.”

“I have to agree, this is probably a lot to take in…” Anisa adds. “We’ll give you two space.”

As the others file out, Felix lingers, leaning towards me to whisper.

“Something about this feels amiss. Please be careful.”

I nod. “Let me see what I can do first.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” With that said, he leaves.

Celena comes alive. Her manner becomes more anxious and erratic as her eyes dart around the room. Pale hands wind into her skirt. I kneel in front of her again, and place my hands on her ashen ones. 

“Shhh. I’m here. What do you need?”

Her questions come in a rush. “Where am I? Who were those people? I don’t feel so well. I-I—”

Abruptly she slumps back, head lolling back. Her ears twitch then go slack…

Her rabbit ears…

“Celena!”

I rush upward, reaching for her shoulders. Eyes snap open.

“ _Got you_.”

The eyes are dark. The eyes are hungry. The eyes are flat.

And they say eyes are the windows to the soul.

My left wrist burns. It’s cold… like ice. Like earlier. She has it in a death grip.

“Ow! Celena—!”

There’s no recognition in her eyes. They see nothing beyond the basic stimuli of vision. Her grip twists. My arm jolts with pain, like an electric shock—but without the mercy of numbing. If she moves it again, it’ll break. I roll my shoulder to get a better angle. I can slip through if I move fast enough. 

“Celena!!”

The grip tightens. The pain is strange. All proprioception is gone making it impossible to break free. Her lips pull back in a mockery of a smile, bearing teeth like a predator.

I felt a match strike.

I don’t know how. Or why.

A flash of light stuns us both. I’m on the floor. She releases my wrist to shield her eyes. The chair clatters before me. A slam comes from behind me.

“Perri!” That’s Felix’s voice. “What the—”

I scramble back in his direction, but my wrist screams as I support myself with it. Celena is doubled-over. Sweet Christ. 

“Celena—!? A—Are you in there!?”

It’s a possession. Or something of that like.

Felix moves quickly and far too calmly. Sage and Anisa rush in on his heels. Sage draws his sword, but Felix raises a hand.

“Allow me. I’ll ask you to kindly vacate that body at once.”

“ _Die_!”

She speaks with such calm _venom_.

Celena readies herself to strike. Felix takes another step.

“Well then. You leave me know choice.”

He outstretches his right hand. Fingers closing into a fist, time slows. Celena grasps at her throat. She’s pulled into the air like a puppet on invisible strings. Though, when Felix approaches her, she looks more and more like a chained animal, hissing and snarling.

“What a clever bit of spellwork. Pity I’ll have to break it.”

He twists his hand. Celena _howls_.

Dark smoke rolls off her, accumulating near Felix. His jaw sets, eyes closed. The milliseconds feel like their own small eternities as her shrieking increases and distorts worse than any imaginings of banshees. Blighted black veins dance on her skin. 

Anisa steps around me, eyes on Felix.

“What are you doing!? Just banish it!”

“I’ve… nearly got it!”

Celena collapses. She’s limp as a ragdoll, sprawled on the floor. Black ichor pours from her eyes, her nose, her mouth…

_Is this what magic is?_

The dark mists swirl like india ink in water, congealing in the mage’s hand. A black sphere floats above his upturned palm. My eyes are dry.

“What is that?”

“A spirit. A very old, very corrupt one.” The necromancer examines his catch. 

Anisa moves to check on Celena.

Sage offers me a hand. When did I wind up on the floor again? Had I simply never stood up, or did I collapse a second time during the display? My weight was braced on my right arm, so I gave him my left, only to be reminded of the pain. I hiss. It does not go unnoticed.

“Are you alright?” Sage asks. I retract my wrist from his and cradle it in front of my chest, wondering how long it will take for the colors to blossom.

“I will be. I just need some ice.”

The merc sighs. “Let’s have a healer look at that.” 

So we do. The magic from the healer was warm, and gentle, but probing, and if I didn’t know what it was and what it was for it would feel invasive. That might have been due to the foreignness of it all. Because of my frame and the lingering, possibly magical, pain of the injury they take the extra precaution of wrapping it for support. Sage, blessedly, doesn’t say a damn thing. 

As Anisa and Felix tend to Celena I wait outside with Sage close at hand. We lean on walls opposite each other. I don’t know how much time I spent staring at my crossed arms and shoes. Eventually, they emerge. I move to them first.

“How is she?”

“Entirely unresponsive on account of her lack of spirit.” Felix says.

“So—so she’s comatose?”

Anisa sighs, “In a manner, yes.”

Jesus.

Sage looks up from his casual position, ears flicking in irritation.

“You pulled one spirit out. Can’t you shove hers back in?”

Felix gives a derisive snort. 

“Ah, Sage, as obtuse as ever. Did you think her spirit was merely lying somewhere forgotten? No, someone excised her spirit. Likely bottled it up and departed ere we found her.”

My God. 

That is… twisted.

That first night, in the temple ruins, Felix said spirits were not whole. To rip out a soul like that sounds even more warped with that in mind.

“What—what is the purpose of stealing a spirit? Who would do such a thing?”

“Spirit theft has always been a necromancer’s trick.” Anisa’s voice is crisp and dangerous. Her eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen, pupils mere slits. She glares at Felix. “A horrible art. You could have just banished that spirit instead of ripping it out of her like that.”

“How polite of you to save your reservations for after I’ve used my wicked arts to save the day.” The air is thick. “I’ve trapped that spirit in an inert form so that I can learn who set it against us. Or is research immoral too? Tell me, where do you draw the line?”

A dangerous thread of inquiry. History can attest to that. 

At his words, Anisa becomes sharper and colder than her blade.

“Spare me the righteous indignation. You can’t seriously believe using people's spirits is moral. We can’t stoop to the methods of our adversaries.”

Adversaries… She mentioned the Lord of Shadows, using necromancy to create a waking nightmare.

“Oh, I’m _stooping_?” Felix’s eyes dart between Sage and Anisa.

Sage’s ears flick again.

“She’s got a point.”

The mage gives an exasperated sigh. He turns to me.

“Come now, Perri, what do you think? Does my necromancy bother you?”

I bristle.

“That’s not fair! You can’t ask me that.” 

Is he seriously asking me that? _For goddamn real_? 

“... Here I thought you of all people might understand me.” 

He has the _gall_ to look as if I was the one betraying expectations.

“I know next to _nothing_ about this. You _know_ how little I know. A week ago I didn’t even put stock in the _concept_ of souls, and now you want me to play judge?”

He flounders. 

“I—”

“Are you that _desperate_ for someone to agree with you?”

He stops to look me in the eye, and I glare back. He looks away first.

“‘Know thy enemy.’ Was that not the counsel of our late leader?”

“Yeah and ‘careful or you risk becoming what you fight.’” Sage states.

“Look where that got him. Dead and buried like the rest. You may dislike my methods but… _Never_ again will I suffer another unnecessary death!”

This conversation is covered in scars I shouldn’t be seeing.

Anisa takes a step forward.

“Felix…” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply.

“I shall be researching a way to track our wayward spirit, if anyone has need of me.”

Turning on his heel, he storms out of the hall. Shaking her head, Anisa can’t restrain her exasperation at the whole debacle. It’s clearly tinged with bad memories.

“Gods, he is so dramatic. I suppose we should call it a day until he comes up with a plan…” With a nod, she leaves. But I can feel that this conversation is going to follow her regardless.

Sage’s gold eyes drift to me, clearly seeking levity.

“Well, this is awkward. I’d love to stay and chat, but… I’ve, uh, got two lovelies—twins actually—waiting for me back at the Gull.”

“Good to know someone can still have some fun around here.”

“Evening.”

“Later, Sage...” My voice trails.

Waving, he saunters off with tail swishing merrily behind him, as casual as ever. He’s awfully good at ignoring his problems. I’m a little jealous. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I sigh. 

Was I too harsh?

I glance at my bandaged wrist. My fingers shake. They did this the other day too, when I tried to sleep away thoughts of the Red Wraith. The air sits heavy in my lungs, like when Anisa spoke to me that day by the lake. My throat’s dry, like the first moment I awoke here, under that strange blood moon.

Felix deliberately put me in a bad position. And now I know it’s because he _explicitly_ expected me to agree with him. But… 

_I_ should know better than to use fighting words like that. I treated that exchange as if it were a struggle to win, where someone must overcome somebody else, not a chance to communicate. My sense of face took more priority than understanding.

My pride’s going to get the best of me one of these days.

“Hey...”

Once again in Anisa’s study, Felix is draped over the couch, his face hidden beneath his hands.

“...I thought you were researching, not brooding.”

Sighing, he refuses to budge, instead mumbling between his fingers. It’s the poster-child of melodrama.

“Please forgive me. That was rather ill-mannered of me. My temper always gets the best of me. Got me expelled, disinherited… And now I’ve made a complete and utter fool of myself in front of you…” He trails off with a small noise of frustration. 

Despite having felt like a small forever of learning new thing after thing, I haven’t even known him for a week. All the more reason to make amends. I’m still upset, true, but it’s a disagreement, not ill-will. 

At least I hope so.

“May I?” I gesture towards the couch. He drags his hands down enough to interpret my request, before acquiescing. Dropping down, I place too much energy into the plop, causing the couch to shift and crashing our shoulders together. “Oof! Sorry! I forgot how squishy this thing is.”

Right. I should have remembered that. 

I have been sleeping on this thing for a week.

It’s funny. He looks so rattled—as if letting go of the arm of the couch would send him into an abyss.

“N—no harm done.”

Cautiously he sits up straight, resting an ankle over his knee. But it feels deliberate. I suspect he’s trying to take up as minimal a space as possible, as he stares at his hands. Gradually, he allows himself to relax, albeit only slightly. He clears his throat. I wait for him to speak, but nothing comes.

He clears his throat _again_.

Welp.

The smooth rapport I thought I was getting with everyone wasn’t as strong as I thought. Crossing my ankles and folding my hands in my lap, I take a deep breath.

“I came here to apologize.”

“You? What for?”

“I was too harsh. I let my pride get the better of me. I could have simply said ‘I don’t know’ and left it at that, but I decided to push it.” I turn my head, originally wanting to catch his eye but I can’t quite make the contact, settling on looking at his shoulders instead. “I’m sorry.”

For a long moment, he was silent, eyes intently looking at his thumbs. With the warm light of the afternoon his eyes were cinereous like feathers. I half wonder if they would appear brighter if I myself could detect the same range of colors as a bird.

“No, you were right—It wasn’t fair to ask such a question of you.” He lets out a breath. “I only wish that I could get you and the rest of them to understand… The people here have such narrow views. Small wonder our knowledge of magic is so limited.”

“Has it always been this way?”

He shakes his head.

“My father, Escell, came from a country called Vela. Across the Glass Sea to the west. There is no place in the whole world like it. For thousands of years it was an inhospitable, haunted wasteland. Until one woman, Ammara Nayyar, bound a god and in doing so, bent the very heavens to her will.” He smiled a gentle smile, the sort one makes out of wonder and admiration. “She created a paradise for man. Naar Vilar, a diamond in the desert built and run entirely by magic.”

“Is that what the official record says, or you?”

“Hah, yes, well it is true although… There are no gods, my friend. Only spirits, and a good many were once feckless mortals like ourselves.”

“Ah, I see... _Oh—_!”

Noticing my own expression of realization, his face lights up.

“My ancestors and their entire culture owe their existence to one necromancer.”

That’s the last thing I expected. How does that affect the culture? What social functions are different from it? Does it play into religion? It’s fascinating… But the look in Anisa’s eyes. Even the laid-back Sage’s apprehension… 

“The world just can’t be simple, can it?” I cross my arms and lean back.

“No, apparently not.” He looks askance. “Thank you for being so patient with me and my… moods. Perri, I am afraid I have not been entirely forthcoming with you… I—”

He stops. 

Turning to stare at his own left hand, it inches along the arm of the couch.

“Uhh, Felix?”

“Oh no.” 

Lurching, he looks as if he was being pulled by his own left hand as if a single part of his body was possessed. I’ve never seen anything like it, though I could say that about most things that’s happened this week. Felix stumbles to the desk, and despite clawing at his own wrist, his left hand grabs a quill. Automatically, I jump to follow. 

“What’s happening now!?”

Gripping his possessed hand he hunches over the desk. It scrawls furiously with complete disregard about whether the words land on paper or wood. I note he’s not panicked so much as irritated. Has this happened before?

“Do not be alarmed. This will pass shortly.”

His hand finishes with an aggressive flourish before stilling once more.

“Felix. What the _hell_ was that?” Rounding the desk I read the message, written in cursive way too neat for the level of viciousness that hand just displayed. 

_‘Felix, return home at once. You know where to find me. And do not burn my missives. Yours, E._ ’

E? Just who is that?

When I look to Felix, he’s cradling his hand and glaring at the message. Now that his sleeve is pulled back an angry white scar in the visage of a caduceus is visible on the back of his hand. It’s identical to the wax seal. His look is one of utter disgust.

“Apparently Escell wishes to speak with me. Most urgently.”

Escell. His _father_?

And on a first-name reference. Mixed with that tone of his, I can tell it’s clearly not the sort of family business I want to get in the middle of. But it’s so sudden.

“Wait wait wait. Did your dad just _possess_ your hand? And what about the spirit thief? Or Celena?”

“If you thought one necromancer was a threat, then you’ll be loath to meet my father.”

He flexes his hand. 

Having some sort of consistency was too much to ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [still recovering from Felix's latest chapter release]
> 
> I'm not sure about ya'll, but the necromancy question never seemed fair to me. Like, oh gee I've been here less than a WEEK and you want me to take hard moral stances on magic now? Our protagonist certainly isn't here for it. If anything, there's probably a laundry list of stuff these three Starsworn might pull that she's not here for, ranging from floor bread to murder to mismatching socks.
> 
> Also why does nobody mention what's up with Celena's appearance? She very much had human ears at the con, and then in Astarea she's a bun-bun. I need this plot detail to come back in the game STAT.
> 
> But now, it's time to figure which predominant direction to take this story. Choices are hard. And I need to choose the best fit.


	14. A Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon embarking past the tutorial, expect a necessary check of all items in your inventory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have settled on Felix's route. Welcome to Fathom Tower, former home of the Starsworn and current residence of one possessed cat.

Once more, everything changed at that temple.

My last day in Mournfall begins a lot like my first, like a pair of bookends. From my limited knowledge, Escell does not seem to be a most patient man, and thus, Felix resolved to leave the very next day.

I couldn’t stay in Mournfall forever.

Anisa was due to travel to Porrima with the ambassador within a few days. Sage as well had his own business to attend to, mentioning something about a smith when I encountered him the prior evening. After some discussion, I stuck to my guns, finding Felix to still be the most prudent choice. I fear I’ll never glimpse home again without him.

I was sad to leave. I had only just started to get my bearings, only for the rug to be pulled out from underneath me _again_. Perhaps Lady Luck has never liked me. Who’s to say?

I yawned. It was dawn, the sky bathed in gentle pinks and soft yellows, the moon still lingering overhead, ever the silent observer. Felix and I arrived at the ruins where this all began. 

He insisted.

“I felt we ought to revisit this place ere we depart. It felt suitable… poetic in a manner.”

He never struck me as a sentimentalist until now.

Is that why he threw me at Anisa that first night despite not contacting each other for years?

The place looks so drastically different in the careful calm of the morning. Sunlight trickles in through the dilapidation. Broken limestone is scattered across the vestiges of a hall. And at that altar near where I first arrived under the blood moon, unlit, half-melted candles still peppered the stairs and window sills. The morning is cool, and dewy. Our breaths ghost in the morning chill. Felix turns to face me.

“And, well…” As he pauses, he nervously licks his lips before continuing. “It’s my fault you are stranded in this realm. Yet here I go dragging you off on another venture… to meet my father no less.” He heaves a misty sigh. “The next time we return here will be the day our paths diverge, when you return to your realm. No matter what happens, I will see you home. I promise.”

Perhaps it’s the calm tiredness the morning naturally draws from people, but his expression was awfully quiet this time. 

“Thank you, Felix. I’ll hold you to it.” As I turn to regard him there’s a nervousness in his eyes. I hold out my hand expectantly. “What, do people not shake hands here?” He takes it, relaxing when I give it a firm, professional shake. “I’m down for a little adventure.”

“Hah! A risky attitude.”

At the snap of his fingers, his bravado returns, the scenery warping. It’s a portal, looking like a darkened mirror hovering mid-air. I look to him, dubious.

“Do you _ever_ walk?”

Sniffing, he crosses his arms with a huff.

“I’d sooner fling my mind and body cross the void than walk all the way to bleeding Porrima. It’s easily a week’s journey and we are perfect targets for ruffians.”

“Oh?”

“Naturally. I look moneyed and you look, well, wide-eyed and lost.” He has that damn smirk again. “Easy prey if I say so myself.”

“I do _not_ look wide-eyed.”

“Then what would you call tripping over the flagstones after gawking at fishmongers?”

“I—! _Ugh_. Call me wide-eyed again and we’ll see what happens bud...” I grumble while fighting back another yawning fit, completely ruining the threat. Maybe I should have slept more instead of talking to Anisa and Sage so much last night. I know it’s not a goodbye forever quite yet, but here in Astarea I only have these three. I am lost, in the end. Adjusting the bag on my shoulder, I shove my hands in my pockets. “Besides you seem to be traveling pretty light. Are your pockets bigger on the inside?”

“It’s a useful trick, is it not?” He smirks again.

I freeze.

My pockets are empty. 

“...Perri? Are you quite alright?”

Failing to keep my movements restrained, I turn, kneeling to check my bag, trying to ensure I have everything. It’s a lot fuller than it was a week ago with all this new stuff just barely fitting.

“Fuck, where is it!?”

No no no! I start yanking things out of my bag, checking and double-checking all the pockets and making a whole pile on the floor.

“Ah, one moment.”

He holds out a hand to me. When I look up, I see the pile of beads resting in his palm.

“Anisa handed it to me right after you left the office. You left it on the table. It might be easier to keep track of if you wore it.”

I clear my throat. That… was not a dignified display.

“It’s not a necklace.” Haphazardly I shove the items back into my bag. Felix regards me with a curious look. Now I feel like I owe an explanation _and_ just ruined my entire image. “It’s my mother’s… I think she would murder me if I lost it in another universe.” If I didn’t kill myself first. Turning his palm, the beads land in my open hands. “Thank you.”

I cough. The chill must be getting in my throat.

“Of course,” he replies. “Are you ready?”

I take another gander at the strange black mass. “You sure this one’s goin’ to the right place? Last time I wrecked a perfectly organized desk.”

He takes a step towards the portal, not answering my question directly. Felix crosses his arms.

“...Would you prefer it if I held your hand?” Redness suddenly dusts his face. “It makes no difference to me of course!”

I raise a brow at his sudden change of tone. “Uh, yeah no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.” I shake my head. Everything’s going to be okay—I’m a big girl.

“Now then, shall we?” he motions towards the portal.

Moving to stand next to him, the dark surface ripples like water on a moonless night—deep and dark and of potentially unfathomable depths. It’s mesmerizing; like looking into an abyssal trench...

Oh. He did mention that portals are _temperamental_. Considering the last ‘accident’ he caused dredged me out of the void like trash caught in a fishing net, I’m suddenly not so sure how to feel about this. There’s this subtle knot in my stomach not unlike the first time I went on a rollercoaster, pretending to my friends that I liked the damn things then going straight for the wildest one.

Then again, I _did_ like rollercoasters in the end. And they were none the wiser.

Ah, what the hell.

I’ve always wanted to say this—

“ _Allons-y_!”

I grab his right hand and jump into the darkness first.

The sensation is more bracing this time around, the air falling out of my lungs. I close my eyes, not that it makes a difference in this darkness. And just like on a rollercoaster, I refuse to scream. Something snaps and my eyes open with it, blue and green hitting my vision in a blurring whirl as I’m sent flying through the air.

“OMPH!”

I landed on something soft and... _groaning_?

“ _Ugh…_ ” Felix is sprawled beneath me, my cheek on his chest. “...Perri?”

Rolling to my left, once I’m on my back I sit up, accidentally elbowing him once, and turn to look at the sorry state the mage is in after being used as a landing pad.

“Ow… shit. Sorry, sorry!” Scrambling to my feet, I reach down and offer him a hand.

“T—thank you.”

Shaking his head like a dog, he brushes twigs and leaves from his messy hair.

“So much for your new and improved portal.”

“My apologies! I was distracted…” Trailing off, he mutters something under his breath, though I can’t make out what. His cheeks are that red color again, which he’s apt to do when he’s flustered or embarrassed or worried about something...

“Did I... do something... wrong?”

“What!? No!” 

“Not thinking with portals then?”

“Don’t be absurd.” His right hand starts to fiddle with his left sleeve. Unlike yesterday when I first saw the strange brand, it’s now irritated, as if budding an infection. “Honestly, this has been bothering me all day.”

“Are you okay? Can’t you cast a healing spell or something on it?”

“And risk my bones shifting or turning into chittering spiders?”

Ew.

“ _Spiders_ !? W—Why in the world would your bones _turn into_ **_spiders_ **!?” I cough into my hand. “Does that brand not play nice with other magic?”

“...I am afraid I’ve no knack for the curative arts.”

“Oh ho. So it’s just incompetence then?”

“Do you enjoy insulting people?”

“Immensely.” I quirk a brow. “The pain of others brings much joy to my miserable heart.” Placing a hand over my chest, I slowly sweep the other in a mockingly solemn flourish. “Still, maybe I should learn a bit of healing. Seems like a useful _life skill_ , ey?” 

Felix tenses. Fiddling with the necklace around his neck, he forces the conversation elsewhere, avoiding my gaze. Is there something about healing magic that bothers him? Surely my pun wasn’t _that_ bad.

“We… really must get moving.”

The soft ground sinks a little beneath my heels.

Last I checked, Porrima is supposedly a major port city, not a forest. 

“Is Porrima a city of treehouses?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why, exactly, are we out in the sticks?”

He flashes me one of those enigmatic smiles before striding across the lake’s shore and I move to follow. Past the trees, I spot a fortress in the center of the still waters. It has the wistful beauty of a place abandoned. Blanketed with moss, ivy, and age, it looms Romantically like a Friedrich landscape. Bright fish akin to koi dart along the partially flooded stone walkway. Once again, I feel an itch in my fingers, wanting the nearest pencil. Felix sweeps his arm in an arc.

“Welcome to Fathom Tower, once home to the Starsworn.”

Wind rustles the overgrown trees. Despite the early hour bats are triggered into flight with echoing screeches, as if it was a daytime gothic horror.

“Well that’s not ominous and decrepit at all.”

My reaction must not be what he wanted, shoulders falling at my straight face. At times I wonder if he’s missing the deadpan or ignoring it.

“Oh, come now, it’s not haunted. Countless arcane artefacts and texts reside here. The derelict facade deters would-be thieves and meddlesome adventurers.”

“That looks a lot taller than six feet.” My brows reach towards my hairline.

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We couldn’t very well call it Ancient Artefact Depot or Castle-Come-Here-There’s-Candy, now could we?”

“Why not? Is there a law?” I shrug, hands on hips. Feeling put out at my nonchalance, Felix sighs, not responding to my question. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s mosey!”

Shallow puddles of water cover most of the walkway leading towards the complex island. They’re stable, but give the illusion of floating stone, threatening to sink under pressure. Inside, the keep is dark, our footsteps echoing. Expressionistic shadows dance across the walls, brought to life by Felix’s magic light. The sheer amount of darkness, especially during the day, is surreal. I keep my steps careful, treading behind the mage and his own echoing. He must know this place incredibly well to navigate so keenly in the dark. The sound of metal tumblers unlocking precedes a sudden flood of light as a door swings open.

The room is a stark contrast to the dark halls and overgrown exterior. A fine layer of dust coats the shelves—another sign this castle has life, even if said life didn’t bother to disturb the furniture for a week or two. Felix runs a finger over a shelf and frowns.

“Where are we?”

“This workshop is where I keep my personal collection of arcane artefacts and—” He shifts. “ _Oh no_.”

Taking a sharp breath, he steps back, eyes wide and fixed on some small mass behind the couch. 

Please don’t be something deadly.

 _Please_ **don’t** be something deadly.

PLEASE don’t be something _deadly_.

“What is it?” My voice is a whisper.

As he holds a finger on his lips, I dare to follow his gaze to it’s target.

_A cat._

A small, tailless kitty cat.

Oh my God.

There are two possibilities. Either Felix, the haughty mage he is, has a problem with cats or… That thing is possessed by a demon. 

Or both.

Considering my luck, it’s both. My bandaged hand flexes.

I look at Felix. Parting his lips he’s about to respond when the cat turns attention away from the mage to me, collar jingling. Since when do demons wear _ribbons_? Then again, since when do cosplayers get possessed...

“Watch out!”

The cat’s already bunting. It rubs a fuzzy head all over my ankles, purring loudly. Seems benign so far.

“Oh. Well. Someone’s motor’s running, ain’t it?”

A hand jabs out in my direction. Felix makes a frantic don’t-do-whatever-thing-you-were-going-to-do gesture. His voice goes up an octave or three.

“D—don’t move a muscle!” 

“...Why…? Is this not a cat…?” My voice is slow, deliberate, and with exaggerated uptick. Vehemently he shakes his head, never letting the fuzzball out of his sight.

“That is no simple house cat. Do not let her fur and blank stare deceive you! Within that seemingly innocent pet hides an ancient, diabolical fiend summoned from the deepest hells.”

Considering what went down yesterday, and the fact he clearly is _aware_ of this cat in detail, I should put more stock in what he says but…

It’s tongue sticks out.

Slowly it blinks with big green eyes. I mirror her, turning my head slowly while blinking. She bunts again, rubbing her cheek on my ankle and feet.

“...Does it have a name?”

“I dare not utter the unholy name of the beast possessing her. But when she lived, my father called her _Stella_.”

She sets to chewing away an itch on a hind paw. I glance at her.

“ _Pspspspspspspsp_?”

The cat looks up at me, big green eyes like gems. That fur looks soft, sleek, and just oh-so-fuzzy. The longer I look the more I just want to pet her. I sense no malice from this cat—only a powerful desire for pets.

Eh, if I die I die.

Dropping down I aim for behind her ears, Stella’s back arching as my hand strokes down her spine. But her expression is incredibly blank, almost like a doll in comparison to my own troublemakers back home. It’s a little unnerving.

Oh well. I’m satisfied. And it feels like Stella is too.

“Perri!”

“What? She’s a kitty-witty.”

“I see.” He squints. “She must have you under some form of compulsion.” 

“Well, I ain’t mad.” I shrug, and look to Stella, and give her a chin scratch. “You’re the prettiest kitty-kat demon I’ve ever seen!” She purrs even louder. “Ooh what a grumble rumble!”

“Are you _cooing_?”

“ _Yes_ —” That was too high-pitched. “— **Yes**. What of it?”

Animals, babies, the injured, and people I’m about _to_ injure can be cooed at. That’s about it. 

Arms crossed, he’s glaring at Stella with _clear_ distaste.

“This cat is _so_ soft though!” The creature in question proceeds to sniff my shoes. “Maybe a pat would turn that frown of yours upside down.”

“No thank you. I value my life.”

The blankness of her stare recedes into a plaintive one, eyes wide and sparkling. Perhaps she’s not so empty?

“ _Ohh_ . Poor baby, have you been all alone in this old dusty room? Actually… Why _do_ you have a supposedly possessed cat in here anyway?”

“I was about to explain before you insisted on petting her. Some years ago I found myself in need of security.”

“So your response is to get a… _cat_?”

He huffs. “No, I trapped a godling in a cat’s body.” Why does this sound familiar? Did he mention this before or something? “Don’t give me that look, she was already dead and long buried by then.”

“Oh, a zombie cat.” I mumble, wondering what  _ exactly  _ a godling even is.

“I did not think the spirit would take, but it thrived. She requires neither sustenance nor sleep. She lives only to protect my belongings. As you can see, her performance leaves much to be desired.”

Stella chirrups. I look at Felix again. 

“Yeah, say that last part a little louder. I’m sure it’ll make her even more motivated to please you.” She flops on her back with a trill. Though tempting, maybe touching a cat’s danger-zone of a belly would be a bad idea in this case. “Well I think she’s _purr_ fect. Isn’t that right, Stella?”

Again she chitters, this time flexing her tiny paws while looking at me. She’s rapidly becoming less like a tabula rasa and more like a proper cat as I entertain her. Maybe she was just miffed thanks to Mr. Moody-Broody’s criticism over there? I probably wouldn’t want him as my employer either.

I scoop her up in my arms. She blinks slowly. Good, she’s content.

“W—what are you doing!? I must insist that you lower that _beast_ at once!”

“Ah! So critical. I refuse.” 

“You cannot be serious.”

I take a few steps towards him.

“She’ll either have to willingly leave or you take her from me.” He freezes. Eyes shift from me, to the cat, back to me again, before finally deciding to just stare fixedly at Stella. “And you called _me_ wide-eyed.”

Felix sighs _miserably_.

Relenting, he takes the cat. Stella goes limp like a ragdoll, while poor Felix is stiff as a statue. The only sound was the purring, punctuated with an ear flick.

“Are you satisfied?” He still looks absolutely frazzled. I’m choking down my laughter, but it’s an effort. “I suppose this isn’t so bad.”

Tentatively, he frees one hand and reaches out to pat her furry scalp. Those feline ears flatten and she wriggles like a worm. Felix yelps and releases her. She lands gracefully at his feet as if nothing had happened, scampers to a chair, circles it twice, and then collapses into a loaf.

“Yep. That’s a cat.” Hands on my hips, I turn his way. “I can’t believe your security system is a _cat_.”

Relaxing now that Stella has chosen to ignore us, he leans against the couch, face still strained at the corners.

“You would do well not to underestimate her, Miss Bostic. She is more dangerous than you can even imagine.” Stella cracks open one eye to observe me. I should try extra hard to stay in her good graces, then. “That said, Stella’s wakeful state bodes ill. She would not be active unless someone attempted to force their way into here.”

“Could it be someone you know? Or maybe a _cat burglar_?”

His lip twitches for a fleeting moment at my pun, but he shakes his head, serious.

“This must be the work of an enemy spellcaster. A most powerful mage… _Like my father_.”

“Why would he try breaking in here?” 

And just what kind of father is this Escell? Someone who would forcibly possess their own son’s hand? I shudder at the thought.

“The man would do anything for power. Or for this…” Reaching into his pocket, he holds up an ornate skeleton key, the same he used to unlock the door. “Take this.” The key is heavy in my hand. “That key is one of my finest creations. Place it in any door and you will be transported here instantly.”

“Wow. That’s… really handy. Hah, if only I had stuff like this back home. My commute would be a lot less annoying.” He wears a look of pride as I bounce the key in my hand. It’s a nice weight. 

“Well it’s one of a kind, so take care to not lose it.”

“Can do. I’ll be sure to use this in my next crime spree.”

“Please don’t.” He sighs. “I’ve no need of physical keys to enter this place, and… I merely thought you should have the freedom to come and go as you like.”

“Just what do you have here anyway that’s so coveted?”

“Hidden deep within this couch is a most dangerous artefact: _The Grimoire Lemegeton_.” Patting the couch he tosses out a prideful smile. “It is the most complete compendium of necromantic research in existence. Bound in human skin, each page inscribed in blood, it was long thought destroyed…”

“Excuse me, did you say _human skin_ ?” Like, what the actual fuck? From now on I refuse to touch any lampshades in this room. Running a hand down my face, I speak mostly to the ceiling. “Anthropodermic bibliopegy. What _joy_. Not creepy at all.”

“It is a bit unorthodox, yes, but I would hardly call it ‘creepy.’”

“Ugh. ‘ _Hic liber Waltonis cute compactus est_ ’… Oh hold up—you also keep this inside the _couch_?”

“Indeed. I was inspired by Stella’s own hoarding habits.”

I blink. “I deeply question your approach to security.” Is this my nana’s money mattress?

“It would be better if Stella were, oh—I don’t know—a nigh invincible killing machine.”

I cross my arms and let out a breath.

“Can I see it?”

It _is_ a rare and unusual artifact with a wealth of knowledge, after all. Still creepy as hell though. The probability of a human-bound book being ethically sourced is pretty low.

“I would show you, but Stella often naps atop it. She gets quite, ah, cross when it’s moved. Perhaps another time.”

“Fair enough… If he’s so interested in necromantic artifacts, you don’t think your father is connected to the spirit thief, do you?”

“My father may have tried breaking in here to get my attention. It is unlikely but… Something is amiss and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

Like Felix said, the timing bodes ill, though I suppose that could apply to everything I’ve experienced this past week. There’s a puzzle here, and the disparate pieces are falling into place. Unfortunately I have no idea what the image on the box is meant to be. Felix pushes off the couch, straightening his jacket before continuing.

“It’s time we paid Escell a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, I decided Felix would be the best fit, if at least partially because Perri here was adamant about magic-ing herself home somehow--well that and there's like... barely any Anisa content at the moment. TT____TT
> 
> (Is sorry to Sage-babes out there, but Perri's brain wouldn't be like "Ah yes, I need to get home. Let's tag along with the bounty hunter rather than the person researching a way back. Excellent plan.")
> 
> Also Felix is Depression-Era Grandma confirmed. I'm constantly imagining that scene from that lovably campy Elvria movie where she keeps a "cookbook", which was actually a spellbook, under a couch cushion for the little dog to guard.
> 
> Side-note: Human leather for book binding was a bit of a thing back in the 19th century. Some people have even requested their biographies be bound in their skin (including the one where that Latin quote is from), which is kinda cool to be honest, though also still kinda grotesque. Using the skin of unwilling convicts, prisoners of war, or those that died in mental institutions, however, not as cool.


	15. A Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon meeting the Archmage, expect to lose every verbal sparring match you and your teacher engage in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving fast, though I expect them to slow down as we get back to Fathom.
> 
> Until then, it's time to meet the Archmage, and walk out with more questions than answers.

This truly must be a dream.

“The capital of Porrima, practically my second home growing up.”

I’ve never seen a palace—not with my own two eyes. Stone a blue-kissed grey, roof shingles that appear as if made of lapis lazuli, golden statues of birds in flight, strange minarets, white metal lattices… And this, this defied all expectations. It was different from anything I would have seen on Earth. Everything was rimmed with flowers in their springtime bloom.

Felix chuckles.

“You’ve seen magical impossibilities, forbidden necromantic arts, and  _ this _ is what awes you?”

But I  _ was _ in awe all those other times. 

“Please, it’s beautiful! A brave new world indeed! Just what kind of stone is this anyway? And the spires—what is their purpose? Was it originally a castle? Or were the ramparts a later addition? Is this typical architecture for Porrima? By my world’s standards it’s very unusual and eclectic. Oh, wait—how thick are those walls with the large windows? Where are the flying buttresses?”

This awe is different though. I can  _ understand _ it. It comes from a bridgeable gap between what I know and something new that I don’t.

I’m rambling. Not that I ever cared.

Felix was silent a moment, studying me, before speaking.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your familiarity with architecture.” He appraises the building, but his expression becomes increasingly taut the more he looks at it. Remember, Miss B, we’re not here for you.

“Oh, right. You probably wanna get this over with.”

Why did my phone have to break? 

Felix sighs.

“I’ll have you know I have never been particularly fond of this oversized ant hill, crawling with politicians. I’m curious to see what your impression of Escell will be.”

As I follow close behind him, Felix moves with a deliberate swiftness and familiarity through these halls, cutting directly through a blossoming courtyard. We only slow when we reach a lobby, the breezeways surrounding it flooding it with natural sunlight. Several people whisper as we pass. I should have suspected Felix wasn’t someone who could go incognito—not in this situation. I pick up the pace enough to speak with him in a low voice.

“There a reason for the staring?”

“Tch, insufferable gossips the lot of them.”

His head snaps at alert, zeroing in on a particularly loud group. At least one man is startled enough to fumble and drop his papers. Felix is on edge. The sight is starting to unnerve me.

“Hmm. You’d think they’d have enough intelligence to whisper out of earshot.”

“You won’t find much of that here,” he replies.

“So what does Escell do, exactly?”

“He is the Archmage of Porrima. He oversees all magical affairs in the country and sits on the governing council.”

“Sounds like quite the big-wig.”

And someone I  _ really  _ don’t want to mess with. From what I’ve heard thus far, the less this Escell’s gaze falls on me the better.

Felix gives a dry, mirthless, laugh. 

“Yes, well, he is only the most powerful mage in all of Porrima. Whoop-de-doo.”

We’ve stopped in front of an ornate door. He stares at it for a moment, eyes tense. Whatever Felix’s relationship with his father is, it can’t be a pleasant one. But I am a stranger to this, after all. Honestly, I’m a relative stranger to Felix as well... 

“Should I wait out here then?”

His head snaps to me.

“Oh. I had assumed you were coming with me. My apologizes—”

I raise a hand.

“Say no more. If you want me to tag along as your apprentice, all you have to do is ask.” I owe a debt, after all. ”You nervous?”

“Of course not!” He’s a terrible liar. “I—I have not seen my father since, oh, before I joined the Starsworn… When I renounced my family, declared I was no longer a member of House Anguis, and left.”

“Ope. That’s awkward.”

“Allow me to do all the talking. My father is a serpent with a honeyed tongue. Pay no mind to anything he says.”

He didn’t ask me to go in, but, from the way he held himself, he once again assumed it as the default. I’m more than willing to oblige, just looking at the state of him. Something tells me this meeting will be… bracing… Felix sheds his customary slouch, straightening with purpose and grit, throwing open the doors dramatic as ever.

Several mages are gathered in the office, hushing at the surprise entrance. Most throw looks at the man looming behind the head desk. An imposing height and affect, with a mere rap of his ring his subordinates rise. Felix is planted in his chosen spot with head held high, forcing the exiting crowd to part like the Red Sea. I make sure to keep my own mask as neutral as possible.

“Father—”

Escell raises a hand. I know it’s not by magic but the words die so abruptly in Felix’s mouth it looks to be. The Archmage continues perusing his scroll. The air is thick and I feel like a mix of imposition and safety line standing next to Felix. Time stretches on as if silence was a weapon, until Felix dares to yield, clearing his throat.

“Come now, father. Surely you did not summon me here so I would watch you work. Why puppet me? How do I still have this blighted insignia? What do you want!?” His usual imperious tone is gone. Despite acting the part of proud defiance, he doesn’t sound it. The Archmage finally speaks.

“Are you finished?”

I think I understand why he wanted me, or anyone not under his father’s thumb, here. This imposing figure continues in a dismissive tone.

“Here for less than an hour and already making demands. You have not changed, Felix. Still impatient. Still wearing all black. My boy, mourning is meant to be a period, not a lifestyle.” 

Escell’s smirk is nothing but cold. Felix flinches.

“As for you insignia, try as you may, you cannot simply walk away from family.” Finally, Escell raises his eyes to look at his son.

“...But I had it removed.” Felix mumbles.

Escell leans forward steepling his fingers. It’s handsome and proud and beyond arrogant. The gesture is identical to what Felix himself often does when appraising someone.

You really can’t walk away from family. Not entirely.

“I own every single spellbreaker in this city. None would dare cross me.” Unlike Felix, this man’s gaze is cool and measured. And now it slides to me. I can feel myself being accused of high treason by intruding on this private affair. “I do not believe we have met.”

I’m really not in the mood for this. I refuse to break eye contact.

“My name is Perri Bostic. It is an honor. I have heard much about you, Archmage Escell.”

Beside me I hear Felix’s subtle, shaky breath. Escell’s look is like that of a curious predator, debating if I’m even edible. I’ve never been one to play  _ prey _ .

“Escell is fine. I can only assume what sort of things Felix has claimed about me.”

“Well then, permit me to form my own opinion.”

I incline my head in a display of deference, but I can sense from Escell’s hawkish eyes he knows it’s anything but. My own pride will definitely be biting me in the ass today. Felix reclaims the spotlight, crossing his arms in anxious impatience.

“Why have you summoned me here? Have you perhaps taken a sudden interest in necromancy?”

The Archmage sits back, a cool casualness as he strokes his chin.

“In a manner, yes. Ever since the blood moon, a necromancer has run amok, robbing innocents of their spirits.”

_ So this is an interrogation _ . I take a fleeting glance towards Felix. Wasn’t my arrival under a blood-red moon? There’s something more here… This rogue necromancer business, the Lord of Shadows, my appearance in Mournfall, Celena—everything is all connected in this sticky spider’s web, entangling everyone who comes across it. And now  _ we’re  _ suspect.

“Ah-ha, then it is my expertise you seek” Felix says, daring to let honest confidence into his manner. “I knew the day would come when you would call upon my knowledge.”

Oh no.  _ He’s dug his own grave _ .

Escell lets out an exasperated sigh.

“No, you foolish boy. I called you here to ascertain your innocence. I see now you lack the wit to perform such feats, despite your appalling taste in magic.”

Whatever sudden spark of confidence motivated Felix to speak was snuffed out before it could even catch. His hands ball into fists as his father continues.

“I have allowed you to sow your wild oats for long enough.” Escell takes an implicatory glance my way before continuing. “You will come home for the duration of this investigation. You will turn over any illicit necromantic artefacts in your possession.” His eyes narrow. “It is time you took your rightful place in House Anguis and ceased this childish tantrum.”

Felix flexes his hands, his palm revealing the crescent-moon indents of his fingernails.

“How—how _dare_ you!”

His jaw set, the rage boils just beneath the surface, ready to overflow as his shoulders shake. Felix’s restraint is tenuous at best.

I cross my arms. Just what kind of game is this to play with your  _ own child _ ? Treating his chosen estrangement as some off-brand Rumspringa? Felix is backed into a corner where his options both result in being at his father’s mercy, the only difference being whether the cage is gilded or not. Cold venom builds in my throat, and I can’t seem to swallow it.   


“ _ Convenient _ . The Archmage decides to hide his son away as if he were a guilty party. What  _ will  _ everyone think?”

The Archmage offers a humorless laugh, and I realize he’s not only followed my logic, but that it just  _ doesn’t matter _ .

Either way he’s getting what he wants, other people and the restraints of convention be damned. He’s _far_ beyond a mere politician.

“I only offer shelter from the coming storm. Whether Felix accepts or not is his own decision.”

Somehow he’s just made his offer sound even more menacing.

“I’m afraid I must decline your offer. If that is all, we will be leaving.” As he speaks, Felix’s gaze stays fixed on the floor.

“Very well. Once you cross that threshold, I cannot protect you. Should you be formally accused of necromancy, I shall have to recuse myself.”

“Am I supposed to be surprised? When have you ever protected anything besides your own interests?” Felix turns away, back to his father.

But Escell isn’t finished. 

“Felix.” At the sound of his name, the mage in question pauses in the doorway. “Your papa and sister will be returning ere the solstice’s end. They miss you terribly.”

“... That’s low, even for you.”

Tolstoy was right: ‘ _ Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. _ ’

“You may turn your back on me now, Felix, but family never lets go.” Escell’s voice is so calm it feels like a warning… or a threat. All things considered, likely both.

I make a final, curt bow before rushing after Felix. 

That was the absolute  _ worst _ parent-teacher conference I’ve ever had. And this time I was not child, parent, or teacher. Only when the doors slam shut with finality does Felix slow his pace, burying his face in his hands and letting out an angry noise of frustration.

“Felix…” At the sound of my voice he peeks past them, finally registering how he must look.

“I—I am sorry you had to witness that. My father, he is…”

“ _ —A bitch _ . What a complete fucking bitch-ass—” I stop. His eyes are big as saucers. “—er, no offense.”

“Oh, I’m not offended. In fact, I find your candor rather… refreshing.” Tucking a loose strand of his dark hair behind an ear, he looks away with a small sigh. Light bounces off a red earring. “Thank you. I—I am glad you were there.”

I huff, crossing my arms. “And I can see why. Though, y’know, you didn’t even ask me properly. You just kinda waltzed in there. And not even in four-four time.”

“...Oh. I had not realized… Yet you followed regardless.”

It’s the least I can do when someone looks panicked as he did.

“Yeah well, after that display I’m glad I did. I’ve never wanted to call CPS on the parent of an adult before. That was downright  _ vile _ .” Rubbing my forehead, my skull’s starting to throb. I look his way again. “How do you feel? Need a break?”

Stubbornly, he shakes his head.

“We must not tarry. There’s still much to do. Leads to investigate, spells to prepare…” Moving directly in front of him, I cock my head and shoot him a dubious look. He blinks at my expression. “Ah. I mustn’t rest until we’ve located that necromancer.”

He’s going to burn himself out working so hard in this frustrated state.

“I’m not asking to go on a European tour. Just five minutes.” He opens his mouth to protest but I’m quicker. “Come on!” Rolling my eyes I grab an upper arm and walk him back the way we came.

We head straight for the flower-lined bridge just beyond the gates. It’s still a beautiful sight, tulips dancing in the breeze, their warm colors contrasting joyfully against the cool tones of the buildings and landscape. The breeze is crisp, stubbornly refusing to let summer take hold just yet. Looking around, I nod. This is perfect.

“Why have you led me here?” the mage asks.

I turn to see Felix glowering in stark contrast to the gentle pastel yellow of breezy flower petals. Suppressing a chuckle, I again wish I had a camera. Perhaps I should try and burn the scene into my memory for a later medium. The sight makes me even more confident in my plan. 

“Alright. Let it out.”

“I beg your pardon?” he shoots me a quizzical look.

“Back on Earth, I was a teacher, remember? If you haven’t noticed, I’m not the most chipper person. And even if I was, I don’t think my affect could, uh,  _ support  _ that sort of expression. Still, it’s embarrassing to say this but… we teachers have to be pillars of stability. Sometimes I’m the only consistent thing in my kids’ lives. So I always try to be put together, because that’s what they need. I’m responsible for them, not the other way around. I’ve learned… how to always... keep moving. Even when I’m not feeling it.”

“...How dreadful.”

“I love what I do, but it’s hard sometimes. It’s easy to get burnt out.  _ Which  _ is why I understand that you need to do  _ something _ ! Y’know, like scream!”

He blows a tuft of hair from his eyes, only for the wind to tousle it further.

“Don’t tell me you honestly expect me to scream.”

“Well then try laughing. Top of your lungs!”

“I can’t. It—it’s not proper!”

“ _ Proper _ ? Since when do you, the  _ necromancer _ , care about  _ propriety _ ?  _ Whose  _ opinions matter so much to you anyway? The  _ tulips _ ? The only other person here is me and quite frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

“Your concern is appreciated, but I’ll lick my wounds out of sight, thank you very much.” 

Felix turns to leave. Stubborn mule.

I take a deep breath.

Here goes nothing—

“HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!” As I spew out a fake, bellowing, utter monstrosity of a laugh he stops to look at me, as if I had grown two heads. I turn again towards the river with straightened back. “HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!”

“W—what? What  _ are  _ you doing!?”

“HA! HA! HA! HA!” 

“I—I’d recommend you cease before—”

“Before what!? Escell comes down here and  _ ‘politely advises’ _ us to have a sense of shame? All the more reason to  _ HA _ !  _ HA _ !  _ HA _ !”

Hands on my hips, I’m beaming. I nearly forgot how much fun being a shameless embarrassment in public was. This is a true work of performance art! Glancing back at Felix again, he can’t seem to decide if he’s embarrassed  _ for  _ me or  _ at  _ me. But I myself am free from those feelings. Embracing awkwardness is a liberating thing. I pick up a stone from the closest flower bed and pose like a pitcher on a baseball card.

“HA-HA HAAAAA!”

My aim is poor. Rather than skipping it slams into the water with a plunk. The wind’s whistle has made short order of my seagull-esque laughs. When I look to Felix again, I pause. Like when he burned the letter, what looks like green veilfire is in his right hand, the flames licking at his uprasied palm. The conjured flame grows until it consumes his hand.

Go big or go home I guess.

Giving his best yell he aims for the river. 

The wind had different ideas.

A whole bed of yellow tulips catches flames. 

“Oh, hells!”

“Shit! We should probably go!”

Being an embarrassment is one thing—you can’t get arrested for that. Destruction of public property, however… well, I have no plans to find out what the exact punishment is for it.

Before running off Felix sneaks a last glance over his shoulder, a prideful smirk at the perfectly square destruction the quickly vanishing flames leave behind. I’m tempted to hit him for ruining perfectly innocent flowers, but I don’t want to ruin that crooked smile. We race up the bridge and back through the open gates. 

“Wait!” I’m huffing more than I’d like, not used to to running around and giggling like a manic simultaneously. He slows a little. “Running is more sus.  _ Phew _ .” We’ve reached the courtyard from earlier, slowing to a stop. “We’re far enough, I think. Walking is less, conspicuous, y’know…”

Despite a few curious stares, nobody seems aware of the pyrotechnics. I take a deep breath to calm my heart rate. Felix also looks flushed from the exertion—decidedly not from embarrassment or frustration. I cross my arms, pleased with myself.

“Feel better?”

“Much better. Thank you.” He straightens. “Let us never speak of that again.”

“No promises.”

My heart stutters as someone clears their throat behind us. It’s one of the mages from earlier.

“Excuse me—“

“We were here the whole time!” Felix jumps.

_ Very discreet _ .

I sigh. The harried mage looks at us, confused, but continues.

“Right… Erm, the Archmage requests your audience. Immediately.” The mage beckons to follow him, but Felix lingers to look sidelong at me. “He insists you come alone.”

I wave a hand. “Go on. I’ll just hang out here.”

“I’ll only be a moment.” Smoothing his waistcoat, he trots off, head high. 

I think he’ll be better this time. Maybe. 

I dunno…

Sighing, I find a piece of masonry in the sunshine to rest on. The courtyard’s air is filled with the scent of confederate jasmine and the tinkling whispers of a distant piano. Closing my eyes, I let my senses drink it in.

But my vision never rests.

I can still see, but the sight is a garden I know too well. There’s that same scent of jasmine. The piano notes are overlaid with the fuzz of an old record player. Monarchs hover around the milkweed, tucked into a back corner that I can barely see through the climbing vines of bitter melons and blue morning glories. There’s a warble of cardinals, the drilling of woodpeckers, and the jingling of a collar full of bells. The oppressive humidity hasn’t come for us yet.

Maybe one day I’ll prune that paw-paw tree.

There are no spirit-stealing necromancers or conniving patriarchs or mysterious wraiths of someone else’s past.

Something giggles.

Nobody giggles in my house.

I open my eyes. My heart sits in the pit of my stomach. 

**_It’s Celena_ ** .

She shouldn’t be _here_. Then again, I shouldn’t either. Her eyes slide to me and she  _ smirks _ . 

I’m  _ done  _ playing games and whoever is controlling this visage  _ knows it _ . I want answers! She flees. I pursue. Feet echoing down the halls, there’s a spring in her step,  _ mocking  _ me. This continues past the gates, onto the bridge. This time I’m closing in. I lurch towards her. Stop jerking me arou—

“ _ Oh fu— _ !”

Clouds. Ground. Wind. Ramparts.

_ Jesus.  _

_ Fucking.  _

**_Christ_ ** .

I’m teetering on the lip of a castle wall—a castle wall that should have been far behind me, not  _ under  _ me! My cloak digs into my neck. It’s suffocation is probably the one thing stopping me from puking—or falling. I’m atop a  _ spire _ , absolutely reeling.

“Careful, Perri,” I jerk my head towards the voice “It’s a long way down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying I replayed Final Fantasy X, but I sure am implying it. The first time I read the flower star scene I had such strong Tidus laughing moment vibes I was DISAPPOINT there wasn't any horrific laughing or bad fake smiles. But hey, Perri's a professional educator, which is basically just being a bad comedian with a degree. It's all about performance. You sacrifice shame for intended effect. She is 100% that teacher that dresses like Ms. Frizzle to the science fair. 
> 
> Oh, and when re-reading Felix's second chapter I freakin' lost it when I noticed Escell's "wild oats" line.
> 
> In the meantime, I'm really trying to set up some character things.  
> Let's see how it goes, I guess.


	16. A Cup of Good Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon meeting a fortune teller, expect vague, foreshadowing language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Mysterious strawberry deer fortune-teller, stage left.

I’m helpless. 

Absolutely helpless.

There’s a yawning chasm, the castle perched on a precipice dropping straight to the shallow, rock-ridden, river. My head feels lighter than air, but my body feels leaden—the only thing stopping their tie from severing being a single hand on my cloak’s edge. Despite the wind, my ears are more alert than ever. I hear the popping of stitches. 

One, two, three—

“Ah-ah, Perri, chin up,  _ eyes on me _ .”

—One, two, three, eyes on you.

Names are like spells, in a way. When they are spoken, you can’t help but turn your ear. And just who is this person to know  _ mine _ ?

More stitches snap, louder this time. The stranger reels me in, with little effort at all, as if I was less a person literally dangling on the edge of death and more a dragonfly in a bug catcher’s net. My knees rattle. “Thanks,” I utter, though I’m sure the sound of my voice was again drowned out by the wind. In response I hear several tsks, playing rhythmically like an old clock.

“Poor little, lost soul, so very far from home.”

I freeze. All my shaking stops.

Considering who I was just chasing, I might be staring right at the answers I was reaching for not but a few moments ago. As their red eyes regard me, they stand casual as ever, strawberry hair whipping around their deer-like features as the wind blows. Their familiarity is unnatural. Hairs rise on the back of my neck as if they had picked up a whisper of the lingering winter chill— _ why _ do I feel like I’ve met them? I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe in  _ reason _ .

“...Have we met?”

The stranger shifts, a hand on his hip as he twirls a streak of white hair, lackadaisical.

“We have not. If it is conversation you desire, we ought to speak somewhere less… precarious.”

The stranger flashes me an enigmatic look before turning on his heel.

I don’t trust it.

But there is little choice.

I am glad to have my feet on the solid stone of the courtyard, surrounded by walls, covered by trees, and scented with earth—all far from the whistling winds. The fountain gives a relaxing natural melody with its trickling water, but it does little to calm my anxiety.

But I wasn’t chasing calm.

I was chasing knowledge.

“Who are you, and how do you know my name?”

The stranger raises a hand to his chest, giving a graceful bow. His smile is dazzling.  _ And performative _ . 

I’ve done that many times myself.

Are his gestures a mockery of my own, or just an unfortunate similarity my brain has decided to latch onto? Suddenly I’m feeling very self-conscious.

“I’m naught but a weary wanderer recently returned from home,” he provides. “A reader of the constellations, beholden to the stars.”

“And are you a  _ teller  _ of the things you read?”

It’s subtle, but he snickers.

“When my morning reading foretold of a most auspicious meeting… Well, I had not expected such a luminous vision of loveliness.” 

He winks. He’s answered  _ nothing _ .

Sliding closer, the fortune teller takes a glance around the courtyard before leaning in to whisper in my ear, voice smooth and calm.

“As the sun alights from it’s lofty zenith, the sea and streets shall run red as the sky above. And you, dear traveller from afar, shall discover that the unseen knife slices deepest.” 

His voice makes me feel like he fancies himself a cat playing with a mouse.

Fortune tellers are known for their tactics. But this… this feels different. This is not a vague cold read statement meant to probe for a hit.  _ He knows my name _ .

“Was that supposed to be a warning, or a threat?”

Bright red eyes crinkle in amusement. Why are they smiling? I’ve seen eyes like that before, red like embers, like Sage when—

“Perri?” _ —Felix _ ? Leg caught in a thorny vine, the mage is clambering over a rose bush, his eyes wide. “There you are!” He looks winded, and frayed. I’ve never seen him move with this much nervous energy—did his father say something even worse this time? “I—I searched everywhere! I was beginning to fear my father had you kidnapped, or turned into a kettle, or worse. What are you doing here alone?”

“Alone? I’m not—”

Oh. 

The fortune teller is gone, like a puff of smoke on a breezy day. My eyes narrow on the empty air.

“Well that’s not disturbing…” Slouching, I find a sunny bench to sit on. My palms hurt from the press of my nails. “I think something weird’s going on.”

“How do you mean?”

“ _ Celena _ . She was here. Or at least her image.” At my words, he stiffens. “I saw her here in the courtyard, so I went after her.”

“You pursued her on your own? After what occurred in Mournfall?”

Reflexively, I cradle my bandaged arm to my chest.

“I wanted  _ answers _ . And clearly she wasn’t going to just wait around politely until your father was finished with you. Hell, that’s probably why she showed up when she did. Besides, she got away anyway. Right as I jumped at her I found myself hanging off the edge of a spire.” My once harsh voice lowers. “Nearly met my Maker...”

“—You almost  _ died _ !?” His voice jumps. “And—and you only  _ now  _ mention it?” 

He’s right. I almost died.

“But I didn’t.” There’s a bigger picture here. I’ll deal with the extraneous crap later. “One moment, I’m on the bridge reaching out. The next— _ boom _ . In a blink I’m seeing sky. That’s more than a little sus, don’t you think? Why would an Astarean necromancer use a cosplayer I met on the damn subway? And why would they even bother to lead  _ me  _ into a trap? Why do this when you’re preoccupied? I don’t need to be  _ Sherlock Holmes _ to know something’s fishy. It’s all too convenient.”

Who is the spider in the center of this web? Escell? The Lord of Shadows? That fortune teller? Someone we have yet to come across?

Felix has increasingly paled the longer my recount goes on. There’s a slight tremble in his hand before he crosses his arms.

“Was there aught else that happened in my absence?”

“I was rescued by a fortune teller. Then they gave me some oblique message.”

“Let me guess.” Felix clears his throat. “I sense darkness and despair. Your aura is aubergine. Your tardigrade is retrograde. Beware shovels and kumquats.”

“Skeptical, are we?”

The mage gives a weak shrug. “If diviners truly existed, I imagine they’d do a great deal more than peddle petty fortunes and horoscopes for coin.”

“Well this was different from the cold readings mentalists try to give. When I say it felt like a warning, I mean a  _ warning _ . He knew my  _ name _ , Felix. I’ve only spoken it directly to a handful of people here. So either someone’s been droppin’ eaves or—or…  _ I dunno _ …” 

Heaving a hefty sigh, I lean forward to press my palms on my temples. All this drama and I haven’t even had caffeine today. In a similar fashion, Felix pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.

“To think the spirit thief would attack you here, of all places. We must leave at once.”

“Shouldn’t we inform Escell?”

“And give him an excuse to take us into custody for questioning? I think not? You nearly lost your life. I can’t imagine why you're thinking of Escell.”

“But he’s investigating the spirit thief as well. Wouldn’t those resources be valuable? I mean… What if he’s targeted next?”

Felix lets out a dry bark of laughter. 

“Oh, I’d welcome it. Gods willing, they’d take each other out and spare me the trouble.”

There are too many unknown variables. And I have no clue how to proceed. 

That leaves me little choice than to let Felix take the reins on this one.

Returning to Fathom Tower via portal, Felix marches straight to his study, and I keep to his heels. A man on a mission, he storms across the room, throwing open the doors of an ornate lacquered cabinet with even more dramatic theatricality than usual.

“I’m such a fool. Failing to prepare even a few cursory protection spells,” he says. “When I knew full well what we are facing.”

Various magical ingredients are haphazardly flung over his shoulder as he ransacks the storage: chalk, candles, and various crystals and gems. The energy in this room is chaotic.

“Uhh, what are you doing?”

“I intend to ward this tower; for our protection and to safeguard my research.”

His head inclines towards the couch—the very same where the Lemegeton lies. That research must be valuable, forbidden, and… powerful.  _ Coveted _ . It would be dangerous to let it fall into less scrupulous hands. Just what exactly  _ are  _ in these ancient tomes?  _ Human transmutation _ ? Is that where he found the power to pull me across universes? 

“You mean to protect the Lemegeton, right?”

“ _ And you _ !”

Oh.

The words linger on the air. His mouth clamps shut, but once words are carried by voice you can’t really take them back. Eyes shift from looking at me, to the floor, to me again. I’m staring.

Wait—I am _staring_. I shift my gaze to the books.

“Ergh, that is to say…” he continues, “you saw what happened to Celena: her soul stolen, her body possessed. I’ll not see you made into a mindless puppet.”

I finally blink. “I… Thank you.”

Everyone does far too much for me.

But what can I do?

If a necromancer comes along to bewitch my soul, what defense could I possibly have?

Felix eases on his glasses, turning to a nearby bookshelf. Cracking open several books, he unceremoniously drops them on the floor. I still cannot grasp how he can scan printed information that rapidly.

Or his lack of respect for the work of bookbinders.

“Any way I can lend a hand?”

Stella bats away at a bundle of dried herbs. With their lavender blooms, they look like catmint.

“I—I don’t even know where to begin. There are countless techniques to consider. Do I start with wards, charms, salt circles? This is all just so very…” Slumping forward to lean a head against the wood, he mumbles something unintelligibly low and foreign to the shelf. “...distressing.”

With a sigh, he closes his eyes.

“I’m your apprentice, right? Tell me what you need.”

“An infinite, self-replenishing wellspring of magic.” He taps his head on the bookcase again. “Or a fresh pot of Thuban black tea with those sesame spice biscuits they serve at the arboretum.”

“One pot of tea coming right up.”

Stiffening, he turns to me clutching a book tightly to his chest as if it were a shield.

“I must sound like a spoiled brat. Please, pay no mind to my frivolous complaints.”

“Heh. Bold of you to assume the tea was for you. Now where do you keep the kettle?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to make me tea.” The eyes betray him, however, lingering on the tea kettle with clear longing.

“And you didn’t but I’m doing it anyway.”

His mouth drops open. “This is utterly unnecessary. Surely you aren’t being serious.”

“I am serious. And don’t call me Shirley.”

Grabbing the book from his hand and placing it once more on the shelf, it’s evident he’ll just pick it up once more if he stays in that spot. Slipping around him I place my hands on the back of his shoulders, steering him towards the couch. It felt like trying to wrestle a dog into the bath. I relent when his legs hit the yellow sofa and he turns to face me again, expression a mix of stubbornness and bewilderment.

“Now is no time to stand idly by.”

“Then sit,” I quip, making a downward motion with my hands.

“But there is too much that must—”

“Shut up. Sit your ass down. And drink your goddamn tea.” I level him with a look, brow quirked and mouth scrunched as if I was dealing with a stubborn student. The absurdity of that thought amuses me to no end. I refuse to lose this staring contest.

Felix relents with a huff. “Satisfied?”

I send a non-committal hum and ease up on my expression, shrugging before wandering over to the kitchenette.

“I probably shouldn’t have to tell you to get comfortable in your own study. Take your jacket off or something.”

There’s a sigh and the shuffle of fabric as he does just that. I didn’t expect him to actually listen to that last part.

“Must you fuss over me?”

“ _ Must you _ be so persnickety? I’m tryin’ to be nice here—don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

As I look over my shoulder, he’s twisted around to watch me. I roll my eyes.

“You're smart. Just find a way to chill.”

Opening a cupboard tucked in the corner, I find it filled with a variety of corked jars. Some contain things like feathers, ashes, and even fingernails. Did I open the wrong cabinet? Or is he just this disorganized? It’s all incredibly  _ witchy _ . Behind the strange ingredients I very much hope are not for cooking, I find a metal tea tin. Upon closer inspection it contains a black tea, the scent suggesting cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves. Stella has joined me, jumping up on the counter. I smile at the fuzzy feline.

“Come to supervise?”

She blinks. Reaching for the kettle, I find it’s already full of tepid water. Taking a step back, I try to figure out the stove. It makes me think of the antique stove my father kept in the house out of novelty, but I don’t see any firestarters. Or coal. Or wood. Or anything to make a fire—not even a little fire demon.

_ Snap _ . 

A fire suddenly sputters to life. Blue flames lick the bottom of the kettle and I whip around to find Felix draped over the back of the couch, smirking at me.

“Heh, you’re welcome.”

I scoff. “Show off.” At my grumbling his smirk becomes more self-amused. “May all your bacon burn.”

“One day you shall need to explain your unusual Earth phrases to me.”

And where would the fun be in that?

Turning back to my task at hand, I let the water boil as I search for a teapot and strainer. 

“How strong?” I ask.

“Oh, you know, just enough to make a suitably strong cup. I trust you know how.”

What the hell does that mean? Super strong? Average? I take another look at him and he’s gone to perusing the nearest book within his reach. Fine,  _ average then _ . It’s just a black tea anyway, not a fancy pu’er. After the kettle begins to whistle, I ready a decent clump of tea leaves. Staring at the steeping leaves, I can’t help but wish for some sort of desert as well. Oh well.

“Where do you keep the cups?”

Without even looking up, Felix snaps his fingers and an old, stained cup pops into existence beside me.

Where do these things even  _ go _ ? 

And does he  _ wash _ them?

I’m going to need to figure out where everything in this tower is tonight if I’m going to be stuck living here with dirty dishes.

Plucking the cup from it’s suspension, I fill it to the brim with the deep ambery liquid. It’s a little fuller than I intended, so instead of carrying it by the lip as I typically would, I cradle its entirety instead, Stella scampering off ahead of me.

“Here you are.”

“You don’t really have to wait on me hand and foot, you know,” he says, without even looking up from his book. Reaching blindly for the cup his hand lands atop mine. “Oh!”

“Careful, it’s hot. And full.”

“Allow me.”

I think I forgot how to use my hands. Or maybe he’s fidgeting too much. I’m trying hard to not cause a spill without burning myself, resulting in a strange game of dainty hot-potato. Somehow Felix winds up just cupping my hands in his, and he chuckles nervously under his breath.

“Well,” he adds, “this is a fine mess. Why do your hands feel so warm?”

Ouch—

His cool hands are a  _ very stark _ contrast to the  _ searing _ cup burning my palms.

_ —Ouch ouch ouch _ .

My brow twitches. “Hot.” 

“Hm?” He’s gone to looking at my face.

“The cup. Is  _ hot. _ ”

“Oh!”

Felix finally releases my hands and aims for the cup handle, releasing me from the source of pain. I shake my hands out, hoping the tingling redness recedes. My hands have always been sensitive to temperature—it might be an artist problem, with a hint of genetics. Bringing the cup to his lips, he pauses.

“I should thank you. You always know how to cheer me up when I’m down.”

I’ve known him for barely a week. Raising a brow, I lazily lean an elbow on the back of the couch.

“You’re easy to read, hun.”

Rapport-building is top of my skill set, after all.

He reddens slightly at my comment, before continuing. 

“Still, makes me wonder how I ever managed without you.” He takes a careful sip, then suddenly blinks. “This is perfect.” Savoring the next sip, he lets himself enjoy the steam rising from the hot cup. “Ah, exactly what I needed.”

“Happy to be of service,” I say a little too smugly.

Once the tea is depleted, he lists the various ingredients necessary for his spells, answering my questions. Though there are still a lot of gaps in my knowledge, even I can see that the way the gears turn in Felix’s mind is something to behold. I fear that once I study up more on magic I’ll be even more impressed and he’ll be insufferable as a result. I take mental notes as the afternoon goes along, figuring it would be useful to be familiar with the wards and protections I’ll be living with indefinitely. I still have effectively no ability to cast magic properly, so when it’s time to start putting the preliminary wards in place he does all of the work. As I follow him around the keep, this is a good opportunity to get a better look of Fathom.

Did the three of them live and train here, I wonder?

And how long has Felix claimed this place by himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banter is my one true love. Please assume Perri has Aubrey Plaza voice.
> 
> ALSO VERY IMPORANTE: Why does the barista brew her tea DIRECTLY IN THE KETTLE? That is barbaric! Tea is brewed in a teapot or in the cup not in the KETTLE. KETTLES ARE FOR WATER AND I AM HIGHLY OFFENDED.
> 
> Worst barista ever.


	17. A Matter Over The Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon exploring your new place of stay, expect a lot of chances to think hard about the unusual circumstances that brought you there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, we have reached one of those portions of the story glossed over with a time skip.

I’m not sure what I expected from Fathom Tower, the proper, fortified castle it is.

Well, it might not _look_ so fortified these days.

Appearances can be sneaky like that.

A tall bergfried dominated the view like a castle ready for a fight, but the unusual bridges, flying buttresses, and keep windows a little too large make me think this place has been around long enough for that need to die away and aesthetic renovations to be made throughout the years. This place must have been socially prominent for a long time. And the signs of disarray… look sudden, and youthful. Some I suspect were fostered by Felix directly.

How important _were_ the Starsworn?

A whole order…

Big enough to have a centralized headquarters _and_ outposts in supposed ‘backwaters’.

Their loss must have been even more significant than I thought.

It must be strange, living in this lonely shell that used to be full of life, friends, and goals--especially if they were your own. How _does_ Felix live here? Wandering the complex for what was probably an hour, I recall enough from the previous day to find his study in the end, but the mage is nowhere to be found. Stella cracks open an eye from her favorite napping location.

“Hey girl, seen the boss around?” She regards me, blinks, then closes her eyes. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

Well now what do I do? We never actually settled on how to handle lessons from this point on, especially now that my mornings are free. Though a piece of me would much rather just keep them free…

It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. He’s not my _keeper_. Nor is he a known early bird. 

I’ve had very little time alone these past few days. 

No no no—if I say I’m going to do something I _should_ do it. And if the situation is really ramping up with this shady spirit stealing business then that’s all the more reason to buckle down and get it done. I could just wait in here until… _whenever_ he wanders in.

I’ll get my break, just not now.

Maybe I should look for him? Or is he still sleeping this late into the morning?

What I need is a _plan_. 

My stomach grumbles.

—Okay, well, _maybe_ I _could_ take a quick break. As I try to will the noise to stop, I see Stella trotting towards me. I hope she’s not so catlike as to bring the useless human a dead bird. Wandering just past me, she turns her head to look me in the eye before strutting off again. Perhaps she wants me to follow?

She certainly didn’t express any annoyance at me stalking her all the way to the great hall, though she doesn’t express much of anything as a normal cat would. The room is illuminated by the morning sun streaming in through the tall, stacked windows. It was clearly well-used for things other than dining, with all kinds of books, maps, and magical knicknacks littered around the room similar to Felix’s workshop. Some of the materials I recognize from yesterday’s adventures with the wards. I suppose a large, well-lit hall does offer more flexibility for experiments than a study. Stella jumps onto the main table, next to a basket and a note in a recognizably elegant script.

The basket, blessedly, contains breads and cheeses.

“Heh, I don’t care what Felix says—you’re probably the best darn cat in the universe.”

She chirrups.

To be honest I had not expected him to be awake early enough to start running around setting up _more_ wards and write a note about how it could take up most of the morning. If the multitude from last night weren’t enough… well, that doesn’t bode well. Just what does the spirit thief want? And does it have anything to do with me being from Earth?

I’m starting to get a headache just pondering it.

“Welp, Stella, the boss seems awfully distracted. Do you think I should wait for him?” 

An ear flicks.

“I’ll take that as another ‘no.’” 

Guess I should take my own advice and vegetate somewhere. Otherwise I’ll spend the day thinking about hypotheticals too much, and nothing good has ever happened to me when that’s the case.

It was well into the afternoon, verging on the edge of evening, when the mage finally made a reappearance. At the sound of a door clattering, I turn in my seat to see him entering the great hall.

“Ah, Perri—there you are. I apologize for my absence today.”

“Oh no, you’re fine,” Waving a hand, the pencil between my fingers slips out onto the table and I scramble after it. “Sounds like you were pretty busy.”

Crossing his arms he approaches the table, eying my open sketchbook before looking back to me. 

“Indeed. We still need to account for your magic lessons as well. I hadn’t expected to be occupied for so long.”

“Don’t overwork yourself on my account—” Upon closer inspection, he looks downright _tired_. How much did he cast today, in addition to yesterday? Plus he’s not one to typically be up and about all day starting in the early hours. “—did you even eat yet?”

“Please do not worry yourself over me.”

“Too late,” I scoff. “You’ve gotta Maslow before you can Bloom.” As he raises a brow, I grin. “Trust me when I say that’s a brilliant pun. Are you still thinking about the spirit thief?”

“But of course! This rogue necromancer business is more than enough cause for alarm.”

“I agree. Especially after yesterday… something doesn’t sit right… You’re more knowledgeable on these matters than me—do you think they want something from me specifically?”

“Hm. It does seem like more and more of a possibility. You yourself highlighted the fact they used the visage of another interloper.”

“And I doubt hangin’ around you helps matters much. What with your creepy-ass book.”

“I would not call it ‘creepy.’”

“How about extremely cursed?”

“Ah, yes. I’ll have to show you my cursed tome collection sometime. Now those _are_ creepy.”

“Well any potential artifacts of doom you might have lying around seems like a good target for thieves of the ‘villainous’ variety.”

“All the more reason to strengthen the wards.” Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. I suspect a headache is threatening him. 

“But whatever you’re doing is going to be a lot less effective if you run yourself ragged. I’m, uh, not going to demand you run around like it ‘ain’t no thang’, but you do seem a _little_ stressed again.”

“You’re not going to again demand I yell, or worse, _laugh_.”

“Okay, enlighten me. How are you _supposed_ to deal with stress at the end of a long day? Take yesterday, for example: What would you have done without the pyrotechnics?”

“I am Porriman nobility. We are supposed to drown our sorrows in exorbitantly priced imported spirits. Or horse frivolous, debauched parties to flagrantly display our wealth and feign prosperity.”

“Oh goodie.” Clapping my hands, my voice is deliberately kept flat. “Do they also claim these parties help the poor?” 

“If they’re putting on gregarious airs, perhaps.” Though he smirks, it soons gives way to that slight discoloration under his eyes. “There is still much to do. Additional wards and protective spells still necessary to bring the tower to its best state of defense.”

My brows shoot up.

“Really? You’ve been running around most of the day though. And yesterday.” 

“Many of these wards are complicated, and I had little need of all of them before. As a result, I’ve allowed them to lapse. But they are unique, so I highly doubt anyone would be able to break through them all without notice. I refuse to be anything but thorough considering the potential dangers.”

That is impressive, but unnerving. I know having all this security is supposed to make me safer, but if anything it highlights the precarious situation I’m in.

What did that fortune teller really want from me?

They could have let me die yesterday. So why _didn’t_ they?

“Well next time a soothsayer comes and tells me to beware the ides, I'll be sure to commission something of your design.”

He pauses. 

“... I was not the one who designed these wards.” Looking askance, he swallows then continues, “It… it was my captain.”

 _Captain_?

“As in… the Starsworn?”

“Yes...”

“Oh. Well, it’s…” That look in his eye makes me nervous to speak, but just as nervous to stay silent. “Well in my opinion it all looks pretty impressive.”

His jaw tightens, before he loosens it to speak.

“...He was quite brilliant when it came to these things...”

Did this person die, those five years ago? They must have… _Many_ must have. On occasion I would see this haunted look ghosting across Anisa’s eyes, and now I see it clearly on Felix.

Not only that, but possibly risen from the grave only to be slain again?

Why _does_ Felix continue to practice necromancy? What even drew him to this in the first place?

Normally Felix doesn’t give off airs that make him seem any older than I, but suddenly he seems much more than he should be. His jaw sets again.

There was silence. 

And more silence.

This silence seemed empty—void-like, even—as if there was a space that I needed to have filled. That’s never happened before. Not with _silence_.

But I don’t like that look on his face. 

My tongue kisses the back of my teeth in a ‘tsk’.

“So... Felix. What do you do for fun around here? When you're not… uh, magicking stuff.”

It’s a bad change in topic. 

Yet, I’ve got nothing else. Small talk is not my forte. Usually I’m much better at dodging it and going straight for something I find more interesting, but I’m drawing a complete blank this time.

“Are you asking me about my hobbies? Well, I read occasionally…”

Pointedly I look at the bookshelf, then back at him. “Oh. Really? I would have _never_ guessed.” I shrug, twirling my hands as if that would make the thoughts come faster. “Is there anything else? Do you like—Oh, I don’t know—going to… the beach?”

“No, I detest sand. And the sun. Swimming too.”

That’s… okay—that’s fair, I suppose. Sand is coarse and rough and it gets everywhere. I click my tongue.

“How ‘bout cooking? Baking?”

“I’ve never made an attempt.”

My brows furrow. 

Seriously? How in the _hell_ did he survive this long? Does he just waste magic energy for the sole purpose of popping in and out of town to eat? Do they do magic pizza delivery? Portal-thru? Is _that_ why these past few days I’ve only seen him eating some variation of _bread_?

Yesterday he was right; it truly is a mystery how he managed without me—or _anyone_ for that matter.

I let out an incredulous sigh. 

“How about the arts? Writing? Painting? Music?”

“I practiced piano as a child. By all accounts, I was so dreadful that the instructor resigned.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” I suppress a shudder at my own memories of trying out the flute. “Then besides reading, what do you do to kick back and _relax_?”

“Kick back… and relax? Hm…”

For a moment _far_ too long he contemplates, opens his mouth, then shuts it again, answerless.

Well crap. I think I just stressed him out more.

“Y’know what, nevermind. I just—I thought maybe you needed a distraction or company. You spent the entire day working alone on those wards.”

And because I feel partially responsible, what with my new status of walking target.

Felix’s demeanor changes, suddenly on the defensive.

“Hmph, is that how it is? Do I really seem so lonely to you?”

I give a sheepish shrug. That direction was not intended. Not at _all_. Felix crosses his arms before glowering at nothing in particular.

“I spent the last several years in isolation and, to tell the truth, it was a relief. Not having to put up with the expectations of others. The inevitable disappointment. I find dealing with people utterly exhausting. I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly content on my own.”

‘ _Don’t need anyone_ ’, huh?

How absurd.

How familiar.

I’ve tasted those words on my tongue too, a long time ago.

Felix sounds oddly rehearsed, as if he’s given this spiel a thousand times before. As if only now realizing his words’ implications, he quickly, and sloppily, amends them.

“That—that’s not to say I dislike you or—or our time together! You, ah… you can stay, I suppose.”

I appreciate the effort. Guess neither of us are good at small-talk.

“Hm. I understand. Well if you ever need me out of your hair just say so. A little solitude is a good thing.”

“But you seem to be quite the people-person.”

“Do I? Guess my degree wasn’t all for nothin’ then,” I shoot a crooked grin. “Dealing with people is a skill. Anyone can learn it, though I’ll admit it’s easier for some. I do _love_ putting on a show, but when it’s time for summer vacation I wouldn’t leave the house for three solid months unless I had to.” 

Some days I fancy myself a sad clown, to be honest.

“Oh? ...That’s, er, interesting…” He stumbles over his words, the conversation taking a turn he clearly didn’t plan for. The gears are turning in his head—I can see it in a slight, unsure, furrow of the brow. 

Anisa called him careless, and in one sense, that’s true, but he’s far from thoughtless. Clearly quite the opposite. I’m a little jealous of minds like that, to find something to think about _besides_ the world around you, filled to the brim with things vying for attention.

Whenever I get lost in my head, it’s always tinted by something around me, as if my peripheral vision was just too wide for my own sanity.

Being without music streaming may end me before I get the chance to get home.

“Your head must be interesting.”

“Pardon?”

“Your head must be really interesting. Because you spend a lot of time in it. Do you ever stop _thinking_?”

“Are you implying thought is a bad thing?”

“—Have you ever tried drawing?”

He pauses, startled by the sudden change in topic. “Nothing substantial.”

It’s impulsive, but I want to try something. Grabbing my sketchbook and pencil I turn to an empty page, slipping next to him. We’re not touching, but it’s close enough I can get a comparable viewing angle. Gesturing, I wave towards the nearest door, left slightly ajar.

“There, look at the doorway. What do you _see_?”

He glances at the door, brow raised, unsure of whatever I’m getting at. “A door.”

“Uh, no. Think _drawing_.”

“Fine, a rectangle.”

Bingo. That’s just the answer I expected. I feel like I’m fourteen again in my first drawing class.

“Hm. Logical response. Is that your final answer?”

“Well… it’s… brown?” He crosses his arms.

I draw the shape in question: flat, shaded, and basic. It looks cartoonishly simplified, and in the end, exactly as he described, albeit in greyscale. It’s a rectangle, sure—but more importantly it looks nothing like what a person’s eyes would register.

“Okay. Now what else am I missing? How do I make this look more like a door?”

“What is the purpose of this?”

“Humor me.”

“Fine, a doorknob.” He didn’t even look up at the door when he answered.

That’s all I need to know.

“You’re telling me what you _think_ you see, not what you actually see.” Using the pencil as a visual straightedge, I hold it up, judging the lines of the door. “Look again—“

Positioning the sketchbook out in front of us, I shift the pencil from my view of the door, to the paper, using its angles and measurements as a guide. Quickly I sketch a shape—a sort of trapezoid, for lack of a better word. 

“—Would you describe this as a rectangle?”

I rotate the pencil flat around the image to highlight my point.

“No, I would not,” he huffs. With my pencil I tap him on the head. Trying to swat my hand away, Felix looks at me with a mix of attentiveness and annoyance.

“You’re starting top-down. You’ve let the abstract answer take priority, then break it apart to get the lower-order answers. I just think it’s funny—I’ve spent my entire career training myself to do the opposite”

Honestly, that’s probably why he makes such impressive mental leaps so quickly. It’s probably _also_ why he was able to dodge understanding the value of cooking the past five years. 

And I fear it’s what’s stressing him out today, as if our mysterious threat knew the both of us would have minds buzzing with frantic energy. It took myself a whole morning of milling about to calm my own thoughts.

Identify it.

Break it down.

Then reconstruct it into something better.

And above all else, do not confuse the image for the actuality. The artist shows you what they want you to see.

I spread my arms wide. “You, as I once did, have fallen to the treachery of images, my friend. For this is not a pipe!—Er, door. This is not a _door_! Tell me—was that fortune teller putting on a show? Just for us? What do they want us to think, and are we thinking it?”

“Considering they had you dangling off the top of a castle spire, clearly it’s a threat.”

“And what do you need to make that? It’s a _scare_. I’m not a fan.”

Moving back to the table, I push the basket towards him before continuing.

“I don’t know what you’re gonna do, but I decided to stop worrying and eat some cheese.” I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. Letting emotions and stress drown me _now_ is a risk. Plopping down in a seat, I sit across from Felix. “At the risk of sounding like my dad: If you want to focus on the wards that’s fine, but remember there’s a limited amount of time and resources in a single day.” Emotional resources included. “We can pick back up on lessons tomorrow. Maybe that same schedule we had in Mournfall would make things easier for both of us? What do you think?”

“Very well. But how will you be spending your time? You might not be able to practice your fencing very much without Anisa. You won’t be bored?”

“That depends on how full the larder is. Have you really never cooked anything?”

“I hadn’t the need too, no.”

“Okay, well, there _is_ a limit to how many breads and pastries I can eat.”

It’s a high limit, but it does exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ceci n'est pas une pipe"
> 
> Large sections of this were written really quickly and easily, but stringing them together with a logical flow took a lot more time. It was really just a small handful of sentences that left me sitting on this for a solid week. 
> 
> I've been thinking a lot about our protagonist's... well... thoughts. More specifically her thought process and how this will affect her moving forward and interacting with others. The problem with a heavy thinking in a first-person perspective is that 90% of what I'm writing is basically ruminating oops. *sigh* This is why I can't even attempt YA.
> 
> I'll probably be re-reading this constantly throughout the next few days and then regret everything. I’m already considering coming back and adding some minor details idk.
> 
> Also, highly recommend using the Maslow/Bloom joke in front of any ed or (particularly child) psych people you encounter.


	18. A Bird Of A Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon a day out, expect others to build their (probably inaccurate) image of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porriman marketplaces, eateries, and debate about how the economy works. Welcome to another day in the life chapter.

“Look! It’s the ocean!”

“Fishmongers, politicians, and now  _ water _ . Does nothing cease to amaze you?”

I shield my eyes from the bright midmorning, bringing back my airy deadpan. “Should it?”

The castle that towered over Porrima’s heart was separated from the rest of the city, positioned atop rough geography, aesthetic landscaping, and architectural design, keeping the politicians a world away from the lively urban center that surrounded them. It was entirely different here, not far from the harbor, filled with the salty sea air, briny fish, and the occasional gruff shiphand. Wanting to enjoy that salty air, I nearly forgot the portal-grape flavor in my mouth as I breathed in deeply.

I started coughing.

“Ugh. Wow, oof—that, that uh, wind definitely had something on it just now.”

It was like rotten eggs set ablaze. What the actual fuck was that? Gross, it’s in my  _ throat _ . Felix’s own nose wrinkles.

“This is an industrial area, which is why it’s back alleys are less populated and hence a discreet place for a portal. What you’re smelling is likely the brimstone from one of these workshops.”

“What the hell are they using so much sulfur for?” Emphasis on the ‘hell’ part.

“Oil of vitriol.” He shrugs before sauntering off, though judging from his walking speed he doesn’t want to linger any more than I do. “It’s produced in significant quantities here. So be cautious with where you step.”

I wince. Now there’s a decidedly painful thought, if ‘oil of vitriol’ is what I think it is. Sometimes Felix speaks with such archaic terminology I swear I’m deciphering the works of a Renaissance alchemist. Is it a result of his upbringing, or just the local parlance? Matching his stride, I cross my arms in a huff.

“I like how you just assume I know what that is.”

“If you didn’t, then you are an expert at knowing when to grimace.” Turning to me, he wears a smug grin, clearly knowing that I have questions and probably in a mood to indulge me.

“Alright, fine. What’s the  _ sulfuric acid _ for?” 

“Soda ash, I believe.”

“Oh.  _ Huh _ . I guess that’s why they’re taking up the waterfront property.”

He nods, continuing, “Porrima is not some inconsequential state with little world standing. It may not be known as the most industrious of nations, but I suppose it’s economy is far from otiose.”

“Fair enough.” 

We walk along the waterfront on the way to the market district. For someone who proclaims such distaste for politics he’s nonetheless well-versed in it, smoothly answering my inquiries. I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise for the son of a political figure like the Archmage. Escell must have insisted on this line of study... My nose scrunches again, though more at my thoughts than the sulfur and brine. That’s so different from how I found myself in the humanities, spending speechless afternoons comfortably with a documentary and my old man. Weaving slowly through streets and cobblestone, I eventually have Felix explain the money denominations to me. It’s annoying not knowing basics people master in elementary school. I chuckle when he fumbles switching between coins in his hand and coin purse. The money here is just so  _ novel _ .

“It’s still so cute how ya’ll use coinage.”

He huffs, picking up a stray silver piece, divided like an old Spanish coin. “Do you have another form of legal tender?” 

“Paper.”

“ _ Paper _ .” The look he shoots my way is skeptical.

“We ditched hard currencies a while ago.”

“So what determines its value? Presumably it’s still backed by specie?”

“It’s a fiat. Free floating, backed by the society itself. It’s the same as gold, when you get down to it. What makes gold worth anything besides people wanting it?”

There’s a thoughtful “Hmm,” as he draws the pouch of money closed, not wanting any more pieces to escape.

“Are banknotes in use?” I ask.

“If you are referring to promissory notes, then yes.”

“Well just imagine those on steroids.”

He blinks and looks away slightly, trying to stay unflappable despite the furrow of his brow. “...Right. Of course… steroids.”

“Ope, er, I mean dialed up. To eleven… It’s, uh, a… an evolution.”

Relatively speaking, I guess my language is probably  _ less  _ decipherable than his. At least I read enough Charles Dickens to piece Felix’s words together. As someone whose job was to explain things clearly, this is a terrible irony.

“Ah. I see,” the mage recovers, nodding, “but that seems incredibly risky. Assuming you centralize the printing of banknotes, there’s nothing really inhibiting the inflation of currency from printing, or counterfeiting.”

“Versus an economy completely tethered to the mining industry? Dude, I dunno if Astarea has ever dealt with a proper gold rush, but a sudden influx of bullion is what crashed the Spanish Empire…”

Debate, debate, debate. 

Our conversations  _ always  _ go this way. 

Question, explanation, tirade.

Rebuttal, hypothesis, opinion.

Not necessarily in any particular order.

Honestly, it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long while. It’s abstract, engaging, and interesting. There’s almost zero need to lay down the concrete; we can just skip straight to the ideas. For once, I’m not the only jack-of-all-trades in the discussion, the mage proving to be quite the accomplished polymath. Odds are he’s probably far beyond my level at processing and internalizing this information, but I had the benefit of growing up with the google machine and producing a string of half-assed metacognition papers, so I’ll call it even.

I just wish he had taken a more scenic route. 

A longer route.

Before I know it we’re turning a corner right into the hustle and bustle. So focused on my little rant about fractional-reserve banking was I, that I ran my shoulder into the edge of a stall as I turned the corner.

“Oof!”

“Are you alright Perri?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m good…”

It was a bazaar. But the design was… bizarre. The district was a whole string of canvas-covered souks and the streets, stairways, and wide-open buildings connecting them. Now that the mild pain in my shoulder ripped me out of my head and back into the real-world once more, I could take in the sights, sounds, and smells of the area. Marketplaces always seem to have a life all their own, but this seems infinitely more lively and flamboyant than Mournfall’s.

When I take a glance back at the mage, he’s looking at me with a smug expression.

Oh, he  _ wants _ me to gawk.

Sweeping his arm in a flamboyant arc, he gestures at the stall-lined street. “Welcome to the Porriman market district,” he proudly proclaims.

Straightening my back, I adjust my now twisted wristwatch.

“It’s alright. I’ve googled cooler places.”

Instead of throwing back a quip, he gives me a confused look. “You’ve, er, what-now?”

“Looked at… pictures of them. On the internet?” I explained the internet to the three of them already, didn’t I? I sigh, the control of the conversation being lost from either of us. “It’s a long story.”

“... Yes, clearly.”

Turning to Felix, the sights and smells of bright spices remind me of the lateness of the morning and encroaching lunch period. “Welp, ‘spose we should grab some grub first? Is there a place to eat around here?”

Are restaurants a thing here? Crap, when and why were restaurants invented? 

How am I going to live without google?

“There are plenty of vendors selling foodstuffs,” he replies. “Take your pick—whatever catches your fancy.”

“Okay. Lead the way. I’m sure we’ll find something.”

Following him through the busy place I feel a little like a lost puppy as the crowd starts to seep in. There are a variety of foods, though it’s a bit early for the street food to really ramp up to full steam. Some foods I  _ think _ I recognize, with others being totally foreign. I’m not sure what I’m in the mood for. Periodically he’d turn to ask me what might be to my taste, and the best response I could spew is “I’m down for anything, really”. I’ve never been good at picking from infinite choices,  _ especially  _ with food. The struggles of being an open-minded eater. 

There are a few open shops, but none seem to be restaurants as I’d recognize them. Glancing around, even inside the buildings the marketplace continues, the larger complexes being sprawling hosts to even more wares and edibles. 

Too many choices are hidden in every nook and cranny. 

Considering picking a building and restricting myself to whatever’s inside, a door nearby loudly rattles open. As an aproned matron puts out a sandwich board sign, I spot a single, yet sprawling table within. Now that’s different. Is  _ that  _ a restaurant?

“Would you rather go to a table d’hôte?” Felix asks, catching me staring inside.

“A what-a-what now?”

“Maybe you know them as ‘ordinaries?’”

I shake my head. “Define, please.”

“It’s a place one can buy a meal, to be eaten at a communal table. You’ll be dining on whatever the cook decides for today, at the specified time, but I suppose it’s more substantial a meal.”

“Ooh. We don’t have those. It’s not expensive, is it?”

“No, places in this area are often geared for the middling sort. You don’t mind eating with a group of complete strangers?”

“No.” It’s been a while since I’ve talked to new people anyway. However... “It’s not a problem for you, is it?”

Just because I’m fine casually talking to strangers doesn’t mean I’d like to be ditched in a room full of them. Not here, at least. And I’m certainly not here to twist his arm into socializing.

“It’s alright. And I believe we’ve come across this establishment at just the right time.” He gestures for me to enter first. “After you.”

It was a very different experience dining as people filed in. The two of us wind up near the end of the table, side-by-side. To Felix’s right was an unaccompanied older gentleman, holding himself with the quiet air of a small town eavesdropper. A giggling girl just out of teenagedom and her equally cheery female companion sat to my left, with sparkling eyes so identical they must be kin. And across the lot of us was a woman managing a trio of youngsters.

The meal is warm and inviting and probably going to last in my system a hell of a lot longer than the street food. On occasion I’d ask him about the dishes I wasn’t familiar with. Still, I was keeping my ears open to the chatter around me, especially after Felix pulled out the list of things we came to the market for in the first place. My eyes would catch the old man, and I knew he was doing the same thing I was, but for the most part everyone was engaged in their own conversations. It was a nice vibe. I like the option of being social without the obligation.

As I sip my coffee, Felix speaks up beside me.

“Perri?”

“Ja?”

“Are these your calculations?”

“You told me to convert the ingredients earlier. So I did.”

From the corner of his eye Felix sends me a cool, scrutinizing, look. Why do I feel like a shoe’s about to drop?

“What’s the product of thirteen and seven?”

Uhhhhhh...

My index finger traces the numbers out on the table. Thirteen times seven, arranged vertically… Seven doubled is fourteen. Add another seven and that’s twenty one. Move the two… One times seven is seven, move it down next to the one.

“Seventy-one.”

“...Ninety-one. It’s  _ ninety-one _ .”

I blink.

“...No it’s not.”

“Yes. Yes it  _ is _ .”

Err...

“...Oh wait I didn’t add the one to the seven. Ah-ha, that’s what happened.”

“Add the one—? That still brings you to  _ eighty _ -one.”

Um—

“ _ Exactly _ . We’ll just split the difference so we can both be right and wrong in equal measure. That seems fair.”

Blinking rapidly, he looks at me, startled, before shaking his head. “Y—you can’t  _ do _ that with mathematics! These are  _ numbers _ . And for ingredients one could use in a spell. If those measurements are incorrect who knows what could happen if someone was to actually perform this.”

Oh no.

“But did I use the right formula?”

“Well—yes. But that’s not the  _ point _ .”

“I, uh, didn’t have any scrap paper on me when I did that, okay?”

“Scrap paper—? This is basic arithmetic.”

“Hey y—you can’t rush perfection. I’m still adjusting to a new environment. A lot of stimuli to balance. Besides, it is well known in the teaching field that math is easier in the  _ morning _ . And I did that  _ last night _ .”

His look was like that of a parent silently telling their child ‘ _ son, I am disappointed _ ’. 

I throw my hands up. “Okay,  _ fine _ ! I’m bad. At math. Big whoop.”

“ _ ‘Bad’ _ at maths?”

“Don’t give me that look. I—ugh.” I might have a minor case of math anxiety. “Grades were bad enough they kicked me out of the class.”

It’s  _ minor _ I swear.

“And here I was under the impression you were the dutiful student.”

“So did the teachers. In school they assumed I could figure everything out on my own, or that I’d just ask my parents. In elementary school they had this whole reward system around these special timed math tests—a high score on each of the four functions was worth one scoop of ice cream. Everyone in the school got at least one. Except me. So I just sat at the table with an  _ empty bowl _ .  **Me** !” I let out a cough. I’m fine. It’s fine. 

Did I really just spew an entire paragraph’s worth of spoken-word flashback? 

_ Dear lord… _

I clear my throat before continuing.

“It’s no big deal. Where I come from I can just use a cal— _ abacus _ .” I’m sure that old man is listening. I can  _ feel _ it. “Move a few beads and poof. An answer.”

With a roll of his eyes, he exhales and glances at the shopping list again, probably set on recalculating it. 

Fair response, honestly.

I must look like an idiot. More than usual, at least.

And just to top it off, a stray potato that was  _ decidedly _ not mine knocks down my teacup before landing on my plate, splattering the contents towards me, Felix, and the girl to my left. The mother clambers to reach over the table, trying to remedy the mess.

“Good heavens! I’m so sorry!”

“Ah!” “Oh no you’re fine!” “Ugh, it’s quite alright.”

The three of us in the splash zone were muttering responses in a simultaneous jumble, reaching for napkins or being handed napkins or wondering if there’s another napkin.

“What have I told you about playing with your food?”

“Wha—But Cicely started it!”

“ _ Did not _ !”

“ _ Did too _ !”

“Enough, the two of you!” the mother sighed. The owner of the potato stuck his tongue out defiantly at his sister, and his tyke of a brother too for good measure. “And stop making faces at your siblings. I’m going to get more napkins.”

With that, she gives us an apologetic nod and scurries off. As soon as she’s out of eyesight the troublemaker proceeds to make more wild expressions at his sister, who sticks to a silent glare with the intent to tattle later. I lean my folded arms on the table.

“Y’know kid, you really should listen to your mother.”

He turns to me, offended a third party entered the fray, wholly incapable of processing the fact he dragged me into it. “Huh? You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m not. I’m just telling you your face can get stuck like that.”

“You don’t know that!”

“You’re right, I  _ don’t _ .” I quirk a brow. “Wanna find out for real?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well if you hold your face like that then—” I gasp, though I’m a piss-poor actress, so I’m probably sounding flat and looking condescending as hell. “ _ Oh no _ . It’s starting!”

“What’s starting?”

“It’s true! Look at your eyebrows, they're doing that thing.”

“What thing!?”

“The  _ thing _ , kid. The  **_thing_ ** .” His sister gives me a confused look, about to refute me, but a good teacher glare shuts her up and makes her realize my game. Now I know who the smart sibling is. And if she's anything like me as the eldest, she'll want to get the last word in. “Really kid, you need to relax your face.”

The sister chimes in, “Yeah Noel! I remember I heard about this in school—”

“—girlie, hush.” I restrain myself from pinching the bridge of my nose, and soften my voice instead. “You’ll make his condition worse. Your mama clearly knows about it. Maybe she can smooth it out when she comes back. Until then you gotta be smart, okay hun?”

“Wha—what do I do?” Perfect. He’s falling for it.

“Just… eat some more of those smashed taters. I heard potatoes will make your face soft—y’know, because they’re soft.”

Noel looks to me, then to the various potato dishes on his plate, including the mashed potatoes, then back to me. I respond with an exasperated expression of my own.

There’s a  _ reason  _ why I teach high school.

How does anything under the age of thirteen even function? This bullshit would have never flown with any of my old students. Noel gives in, eating. And when one’s mouth is chewing, full of potatoes, it’s not like it’s doing much else. In my periphery I catch Felix’s look, silently questioning the fact I just spat an incredible amount of bullshit to some poor, impressionable lad. Clearly he doesn’t spend time around a lot of kids.

I lean in, shoulders brushing, my voice relatively low. “Idle hands do the Devil’s work.” To illustrate my point I swipe his cup from his hand for myself, take a sip and place it back in front of him.

Plus, I need the caffeine and I don’t care where I get it at this point.

He looks absolutely offended—I can tell because he’s doing that blushing thing again but pretending not to. Worst poker face ever. I can feel my own face form a satisfied half-smile. Now that was a job well done! If only Sage was here so I could have a witness to my personal sitcom.

“Your accent is most strange.” 

A feminine voice came from my left. It was the lively girl… I only now realize this whole spectacle did in fact have a live studio audience, of the dine-in variety. What was her name—? I swear I overheard her and her sister use their names…

“It has a fun vocabulary,” adds the calm one… Yvette! That’s it. Yvette, and the bubbly one is Kitty.

I shift to face the pair better. “Oh. Well, I’m a traveler from abroad.”

“I knew it! You must be some sort of adventurer!” cries Kitty.

“Hardly.”

“If not, then what are you? You don’t strike me as a merchant.”

“Just a tourist.”

Yvette chimes in. “But your friend there is clearly a local…  _ Ohh _ !” 

I don’t think I like the sound of that ‘ohh’. Whatever Yvette was thinking, Kitty was of the same mind. She leans in conspiratorially and tries to keep her voice low, but how low can you go in a full table setting? 

“Are you two  _ involved _ ?”

I hear Felix’s tea sputter beside me.  _ For the love of— _

“What? No! Just,  _ ah _ , er— _ no _ .” My fingers find my forehead as I lean an elbow on the table. Without looking away from Kitty, I hand a napkin to the source of the coughing directly to my right. There’s an elderly chuckle coming from the same direction, but I refuse to face that side of the table. “Why does everyone say that?” I grumble.

Though I suppose I should have expected the Escell  _ ‘wild oats’ _ accusation because of the context, Anisa made a similar implication that first night. Do I give off that impression? It’s been barely over a week since I met him, and it sounds terribly unprofessional since he’s basically my tutor, and I have every intention of going home ASAP, and, and—

Just end me.

“Oh, are we mistaken?” Yvette replies, but she still wears an implicatory look. Did I answer too quickly?  _ Oh boy _ ...

“It would be terribly romantic!”

“Don’t tease them, Kitty.”

My brow furrows as Kitty continues, “But it would!” 

“Is she okay?” I look at Yvette, wiggling my fingers towards her sibling. Yvette says nothing, only snickers. I deliberately refuse to look at Felix, so I’m not sure if he’s successfully stopped choking or just casually died. If it’s the latter, I’m inclined to join him.

“Imagine Yvette, moving across borders to be with someone out of love.”

“That sounds like a horrible idea.” I say, throwing Yvette another pleading look, hoping that would convince her to act before Kitty embarrasses everyone around her further. But alas, she seems to be silently entertaining the same thoughts. 

“With how red your pretty friend is I too would move across—”

“—No, really. That’s a terrible idea.”

I shudder at the concept. Is this how people interpret my parents’ relationship?

Thanks, I hate it. 

Perhaps I’ve spent too much time this morning just bouncing ideas back and forth with Felix, but I am more than ready to debate this. I turn in my chair to better face the flighty duo.

“That sort of tunnel-vision decision-making is a one way ticket to  _ resentment _ —” A strangled cough comes from Felix. I swivel my head. “Oh good, you didn’t die over there?”

“Er, I—I am finished with my meal and we do have errands to complete. Are you ready to leave?” The mage is silently pleading with those nervous grey puppy dog eyes. I feel that. I’m not too keen on being bombarded either.

“Let’s skedaddle.” Standing, I shoot one last look at the kids who have been watching the whole debacle. “Po. Tae. Toes.” Clicking my tongue I wink at the troublemaker.

Outside once more, I put on a mock chipperness. “Well. That was something.”

“Indeed.”

“Done choking on tea now?”

“You were not of much help in that regard.”

“If it’s any consolation, I would have at least made sure you didn’t die face-first in a plate of potatoes. I probably would have rolled you off onto the floor instead.”

“What joy,” he says, rolling his eyes.

His bite is back. Good. I would have been worried otherwise.

I should remember, though, to not dilly-dally on getting home.

This has been more than enough time for them to notice. A piece of me hopes they don’t though—it would be easier if I could just breeze out of their hair like the wind, rather than weighing them down with burdens and worries. 

“C’mon pretty boy, we’ve got shit to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People can be both weirdly identical and weirdly divergent. Exploring characters via dialogue will always be my favorite thing.
> 
> In the meantime, it's another episode of I'm-trying-to-worldbuild-without-doing-anything-that-will-completely-be-overrun-in-canon. I'm oscillating between things in the 18th and 19th centuries, though leaning a bit more towards 18th century when it comes to institutions... Like restaurants not existing in the contemporary sense. Or fractional reserve banking. Writing Felix (particularly conversations between him and our protagonist here) is also a bit of a thought process because of this mixed with the archaic sprinklings in his language. 
> 
> And again, if I felt the need to research it as a result of writing, then Perri probs doesn't know it. No historian knows every archaic thing in the multiverse, after all. But at the same time it's not weird to know a crap ton of weird shit no normal person really should ever know, like soda ash requiring sea salt to be produced. *awkward cough*


	19. A Place Where the Land Meets the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon hearing insults directed at a respected friend, expect someone to completely rip into the insulter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing adventures in Porrima's marketplace.

The whole of the market area was designed around one major thoroughfare, spidering off into more specified bazaars, like tributaries filtering into the Mississippi. Porrima must be quite the trading hub. It would explain the opulence of it’s kingless castle, on display, high above, as a show of capital and influence.

It’s fun to be in a city again.

No need to nod and wave at every stranger that passes by.

Besides, we’ve got a list to knock out. I’m still not entirely sure how someone can make it so long without cooking at least a little. It’s a wonder. And not in a good way.

I slap a bag of rice.

That’s never  _ not  _ satisfying.

Felix eyes me. “Are you sure that’s not too much?”

“It’ll shrink when cooked.”

“Oh, right. Then is that… enough?”

“I’m  _ kidding _ .” I can’t keep a straight face as he pouts. “Okay okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But the nice thing about rice is it’ll go with most things. And it’s simple to cook. Plus you get the bonus of having a slappable bag.” My hand smacks the bag for emphasis. “See? Satisfying. C’mon, slap the bag.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.”

The mage shoves it into a messenger bag he’s brought with him—the same lightweight bag he’s put  _ every other _ purchase in. Essentially it’s Mary Poppins’ carpet bag. I’m still constantly confounded by that inexplicable hyperspace. That could be a very, very, bad spell for me to learn if I’m going to defend myself from developing a hoarding habit. 

I’ll need to ask him how it works later.

Following him through the crowds, the next section is even more vibrant and bizarre than the rest. Human, ilephta, elf… races I don’t even know the names of yet, dressed in styles I have never seen, speaking languages I have never heard, and radiating a lively energy I have never felt. Is that literal magic buzzing? A tang of ozone tickles my throat near some stalls. The air is simultaneously breezy yet thick with heady spices, incense, and perfumes. Despite being just as colorful as the other areas, this spot seems richer, more vibrant, and more opulent somehow. Eying the wares, there are goods I can’t even attempt to identify.

I stick close, not wanting to lose Felix, as he purchases materials for whatever magic he has planned. He catches me gawking yet again.

Either I’ve lost all subtlety, or he’s found my tells already.

I’ll need to rectify that later.

“This area in particular is where international traders prefer to set up shop,” he says. “Exotic and outlandish goods of all sorts can be found here. Even the upper classes wander down here when seeking something particular.”

“Huh. You’d think they’d send a lackey.”

“Ordinarily they do. But there are some goods people would much rather see themselves before purchasing. Besides, the districts they customarily frequent are nearby.”

Walking backwards, I spin around to face him as he talks. 

“Must be so hard on them. To physically go somewhere with  _ poor people _ rather than just getting everything by mail-order.”

The mage wears a sardonic grin. “Now that would be quite the scheme.”

“How robust is the mail system? Maybe we can go into business, be the next Sears and Roebuck.”

“You seem confident that business model would actually take.”

“Ah, then you should see the dominance of Earth’s online shopping. I can order nearly anything I want from all over the world and it’ll show up on my doorstep within a few days. None of this  _ people-business  _ or going  _ outside  _ where there’s  _ sun _ .”

“Well, pardon me for not finding a nearly as  _ advanced _ marketplace for you to explore.”

“Ha! Well it’s the lack of fashion that really strikes fear into my heart.”

Picking up the pace, I want to enjoy the energy of this place while I can. Is this how Dorothy felt in the Emerald City?

“Per—”

There’s impact. I rammed straight into another person, and in the ricochet I barely avoid kissing the pavement myself.

“Watch it!”

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! Are you ok, sir?”

There’s a sigh. “Mind where you’re going next time.”

A young human man, dressed in the rich, vibrant finery of brocaded silks and delicate muslin, regards me with a look of  _ utter disdain _ . He scowled as if a stray dog pissed on his shoe. Oh yes, now  _ that’s  _ a familiar look, a look of superiority over fellow man. Eyes slide past me to Felix, a new glint of recognition.

“I had heard the Archmage’s castoff progeny was skulking around the city again like some guttersnipe. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen that dour face.”

“Ah.” Felix’s tone is flat, before quickly souring. “The young Lord  _ Squanderfield  _ himself.”

_ Squander _ -field?

“It would serve you well to address people with their actual names, Escellun.” The man replies. “Though, considering you haven’t changed since getting expelled, I can’t help but wonder if you  _ enjoy  _ being persona non grata.”

Ah, so it’s not just a noble. It’s an old  _ classmate _ . 

That probably makes it worse.

He continues, “Out of curiosity, was that old nickname you gave me just your Velan blood speaking? I hear you’ve been living as  _ frugally  _ as your ancestors these days.”

“Mayhap your father can elaborate more on what happened to your family’s coffers.”

“Why? There is nothing to complain about on the subject.” His voice was haughty—defensively so.

“I meant the state of funds  _ before  _ his third wife.”

“I didn’t think you were one to gossip,” the dandy huffs, before adjusting his cufflinks. “Usually you’d be the  _ source  _ of it.”

Felix crosses his arms. “Are we finished here? I’m sure you have plenty of useless baubles to throw money at.” Clearly he’s itching to get out of here.

“Is there anything wrong with catching up with an old schoolmate? Especially one who left society as dramatically as yourself?”

I step in, partially in front of Felix, in an attempt to end this whole snipe show. “Uh, hate to break this up, but I think the two of us should get going.”

Eyes scan me once more, judging. As if he had any right to.

“Pity. I would have loved to get more acquainted. It’s not everyday society’s most well-known  _ pariah  _ shows up bringing an unknown waif into his father’s office.” The nobleman looks thoughtful and curious, and not in a good way. “And of  _ exotic  _ accent and manner, no less.”

**_Exotic_ ** !?

Ugh. 

_ Rude _ .

**Demeaning** .

And absolutely gross.

Felix starts, “ _ You _ —” 

“— _ Felix _ . It’s fine,” Leaning in, I place a hand on his shoulder, voice quiet. “Just ignore him, he ain’t worth your time.” Pushing him to turn and leave, his balled fists relax, but only slightly.

“A word of advice, young miss, on the company you keep—” the young lord calls out, and from habit I twist to face him. “—if you wanted to curry favor with the Archmage, perhaps it would be more effective to avoid his second-rate son. He has a habit of assuming the world revolves around  _ him _ .”

“ **Pardon** !?” Felix sputters. “That is  _ laughable  _ coming from you!” 

“I’m not the one who forsook my family for not being up to snuff.”

Oh  _ hell _ no—

“I’m sorry but did you say something?” My voice is cheery and quick. “I see your mouth flapping but all I hear is this high pitched  _ rrrriiiiiiiinnng _ in my ears. I think I’ve picked up some sort of tinnitus because whatever’s causing that noise has successfully punctured my eardrums with it’s unnatural, unholy, and unwanted sound.”

The eavesdropping crowd around us had quieted as much as it could in the middle of a bazaar, waiting for the tea to spill. After a beat, the nobleman scoffs. 

“Ha! I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t dressed like  _ new money _ you’d have the cash to buy one. Tell me, when  _ daddy  _ **bought** you into existence, did he skimp on the, uhm,  _ brain  _ and  _ personality _ ? Or did you lose that at a later date?” Murmurs ripple across the crowd, incentivising me. Hands in my pockets, I take a challenging step forward, grinning. “You’re so terribly easy to insult it’s downright  _ vaudevillian _ . I just wish I could keep you in my pocket—you’d provide me with so much material I could start a comedy roadshow.”

Narrowing my eyes, I refuse to break eye contact.

Escell—now that was danger and power rolled into one machiavellian bastard. But this  _ prick _ ? He’s just some entitled brat who has confused family handouts with having actual ability. And he has the  _ gall  _ to criticize Felix’s character, despite starting a conversation with degrading and thinly-veiled vitriol!? Whatever amusement he had at the  _ novelty  _ of being insulted by some broke-ass stranger such as myself quickly wore off. My expression deadens.

“Now, would you be so kind as to move? Because unlike  _ my friend _ here, the more you just stand around breathing someone else’s oxygen the greater a waste of tax money you become.”

I resist the urge to call him a bitch for emphasis.

Can’t say that to  _ children _ , afterall. 

The crowd gasps at my irreverence. Or perhaps my daring. Maybe even his embarrassment. It’s hard to tell which one was most popular.

There’s an arm in front of my face.

A caduceus brand on the back of the hand.

The nobleman’s wrist is caught in Felix’s grasp. 

That captured hand was meant to strike  _ me _ . Right here. In the middle of the marketplace. There’s a sense of satisfaction for pushing that macaroni to lose all cultivation and resort to brash action. When all his tricks and tools are dismantled,  _ violence  _ is his only repose. Even if that strike did land,  _ I won _ .

The two stare each other down, expressions tense.

He shakes off Felix’s grasp, straightening his doublet. A manservant scrambles up to his master. “M’lord, I think we should leave. This is attracting a crowd.”

Looking around, I see he’s right—the bustle of people pack together around us, expecting bloodsport.

“Fine. You’ve always been a reservoir of trouble,  _ Escellun _ .”

Spinning on his heel, the nobleman leaves. His movements are abrupt and minimalistic, as if so much as blinking would be too much of a courtesy to us. Finding no further source of entertainment to feast on the crowd crumbles like sand. The marketplace is normal once more.

Felix takes my wrist and stalks off to the nearest side-street. It’s quieter than the main thoroughfare. As he releases me, I adjust my watch and give him a quizzical expression.

“Your… family drama seems awfully…  _ public _ ,” I say.

“Are you  _ mad _ ?”

“Huh?”

“Are you mad? You just directly insulted a nobleman in the middle of a public venue!”

“So? He deserved to be taken down a peg.”

“Are you utterly oblivious to the fact he just tried to  _ strike  _ you?”

“Well, yeah I noticed. But that would just prove my  _ point _ , wouldn’t it? B-Besides—you were sniping at him too.”

“I may be a derelict as he says but I still have a background in nobility. And the Archmage as a patriarch—adamant as he is to stitch our house together.  _ You  _ are afforded no such pass.”

“All the more reason then! I’m not here to pamper his fragile ego. What  _ reason  _ do  **_I_ ** have to give a shit about his opinion?”

Felix pinches the bridge of his nose as he often does when fighting a headache. “Sometimes I just cannot comprehend you—back there you were as reckless as  _ Sage _ .”

“ _ Oh _ ? So I should just sit back and let him diss you like that? It’s one thing to call me a waif, it’s another thing to attack  _ your integrity _ !” The words come out louder than intended, causing Felix to flinch. I’m not sure if he’s responding to the tone or the content. Straightening, I move to smooth out my cloak. “That asshat has no grounds to question your character like that. You’re the most helpful necromancer I know.” 

There’s a heavy exhale. “I’m the  _ only  _ necromancer you know.” 

A long, pregnant pause stretches between us. 

Why is my mind so jittery? 

It must be the high of the previous fiasco finally wearing off. To insult a man in private is one thing, they may even thank you for it, but to insult a man in public is a very different matter indeed. I clap my hands together, as if that would dispel the situation.

“Well, I suppose that’s the end of that shopping trip.” Checking my watch, then looking to the sky for confirmation, it’s already mid-afternoon. “We do have magic lessons anyways.”

“...Of course. Was there anything else you needed to look at before departing?”

“If there is, I probably won’t remember it until midnight.”

“Alright then. We’ll need to find a suitable place for a portal...” Felix turns on his heel. As I move to follow, he stops, wearing an odd expression that I can’t read. “...Did you want to visit the beach?”

Huh?

Why the beach?

“Oh, no, that’s fine. I know you don’t like the beach.”

“I asked if  _ you _ wanted to go,” he replies. That expression of his is still inscrutable as ever.

“—I, uh…” Oh.  _ Me _ ? Well… “...yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Felix continues to look at me. I hadn’t noticed before to what extent his eyes take on the ambient light of the environment, for now they look entirely different than they do under firelight or surrounded by spirit wisps or…

“Come along, there’s a less populated location past the port,” the mage says, turning to leave.

This time, the walk was silent.

I wonder what’s going on in that head of his? Because I know for a fact it’s not still.

Focused, perhaps, but  _ never  _ still.

And I… well… I will never be in Astarea without the urge to capture every moment on canvas, it seems. The shoreline was emptier than I had expected, though not entirely devoid of visitors, humanoid silhouettes against the bright seafoam green.

“It’s the ocean!”

“I think that’s already been established.”

The ocean never gets old.

Then again, I can count the number of times I’ve been to the beach on my fingers.

“Yeah, but—but it’s right  _ here _ ! And it’s huge!”

“And you insist you are not the wide-eyed one?” He smirks.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Just let me have this moment. The very first time I visited the ocean I was  _ twenty-four _ .”

The look he wears is quizzical, giving me the sneaking suspicion he may have underestimated my age. “ _ Truly _ ?”

I nod.

“Ever since I was a child… My mom would tell me about the ocean. I… remember once when I saw this beautiful ocean scene in a movie—er, picture—and the night water was  _ glowing  _ with these iridescent jellyfish. I thought the whole image, the whole concept, was  _ fucking amazing _ . I was gobsmacked. I was so in awe of the picture I had to show it off to my mom. Ask her, ‘is this  _ real’ _ ? And y’know what her response was?” I lean on a stone retaining wall, steps leading down into the sand. “She shrugged it off! Like it was the most boring thing in the world! Heh… And somehow… that made me even  _ more _ fascinated by the ocean. Like, how  _ different _ was my mom’s life to mine to have such a blasé response to something so, so—so  _ cool _ ? She always promised she’d take me herself. She never got the chance.”

Felix looks at me, questions on the tip of his tongue, but hesitant. Perhaps his restraint is out of politeness and caution. Giving him an expectant look, he finally asks, “Why is that?”

“Because we broke as shit,” I chuckle. “Still, my parents indulged me when they could. I didn’t ask for much as a kid anyway. I was perfectly happy to play with free cardboard boxes. Though... I’m  _ assuming  _ noble children aren’t encouraged to play with the trash?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘trash’. There are more than a few personalities I’ve met that might constitute as rubbish... Well—it’s heartening to hear not all families are doomed to turmoil and in-fighting.”

“Your childhood with Escell wasn’t that bad, was it? Ah—that is, if you don’t mind me asking.” 

Avoiding his gaze, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Maybe that was too prying—

“Hmpf. As soon as I showed a hint of magical aptitude, he took it upon himself to mold me into his image,” Felix wears a self-deprecatory smile. “I suppose you could say I’m his greatest failure yet.”

Waves crash as he turns to face the shore. The breeze tussles his hair as I look his way again, but I’m not entirely sure what to say… Or rather,  _ how  _ to say it. It’s becoming harder and harder to organize my thoughts. Everything was so clear this morning...

“... How’d you turn out so good?”

Oh geez. That’s  _ eloquent _ .

Ugh...

Felix looks at me, only to quickly look away again. “Well… that’s…” He clears his throat, “There… was my papa and sister. My childhood wasn’t completely miserable, I suppose…”

I feel better, hearing that.

For a few long moments, it’s silent, save for the whispers of waves and wind. Holding my fingers as a frame, I rake them across the scene, wondering what lies in and past those wine-eyed waters. A whole world exists beyond the boundaries of Porrima, no doubt filled with sights and sounds and peoples. What if I just dropped everything and wandered off to drink it all in? Could I just lose myself in what the world has to offer, living day-to-day? Worry free? How selfish that would be.

I tug on my ponytail, disheveled by the moving air. “The wind. It’s nice.”

Felix hums in agreement. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I kick off the wall and try to get a good look at him. Before he starts to flounder at my staring, I feel compelled to speak again.

“Hey... Thanks.”

“Whatever for?”

“For indulging me. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t start throwing sand at you.”

He sighs. “I daresay I have trouble believing that.”

“You wound me sir.” Despite my flat voice, I raise a hand to my chest and shake my head, finding it impossible to hide my enjoyment. “Quite the achievement. I’d like to think I’m a pretty tough cookie.”

“Hm. I’ve come to the same conclusion. Earlier you did quite a number to that coxcomb’s ego.” As the wind dies slightly, Felix pushes back a particularly meddling clump of his hair. “Though, that begs the question: why  _ did  _ you put yourself on the spot like that? You didn’t need to defe— Er, you could have simply walked away.”

“Uh, well… He pissed me off.” 

“That’s all?  _ That’s  _ the reason?”

“Yep. I think you deserved better.” Wiggling my fingers, my tone switches to whimsical. “Why, when  _ I _ try to insult you I put a lot of work and creativity into it. His insults for you were…  _ subpar  _ at best.” 

Crossing his arms, he grumbles, “Oftentimes I can’t discern if you’re speaking in jest or in earnest...” There’s little sharpness to his words.

I mirror his pose, but with a lot more amusement.

“Are they mutually exclusive? You’re worth the effort.” Clearing my throat, I suppress a smile. “ _ —Now _ , if you excuse me, I’m going to go stand in the water. Stay here if you want, I already know your opinion on  _ sand _ .”

And so I run off, shoes in hand.

And he stays back, but doesn’t leave or look particularly dour either.

The sand is coarse, and rough, and it gets everywhere, but it’s warm between my toes.

Because Jesus fuck that water is  _ cold _ .

By the time we get back to Fathom, it’s cut into our lessons, pushing my studies well into the evening. Glancing at my watch, I head out of the study, declaring that dinner needs to get started on  _ now  _ or I’ll just not have it at all. What’s the point of buying all that stuff just to skip meals and let it go bad?

“How long would it normally take you to prepare something?” Felix asks.

“Eh, well, rice is easy. Just rinse it and throw it in the rice cooker.”

“The… what?”

“...shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just like writing rich people being pretentious assholes, ok? And even more than that, i n s u l t s.  
> Don't judge me.
> 
> I also cannot take credit for the pointed nickname of "Squanderfield", as I stole it right outta a Hogarth painting. It's just too perf. 
> 
> As per usual, I don't seem to understand the concept of editing before posting. Thus, I will probably go on another massive self-re-reading campaign and try to clean everything up because I'm a dumb-dumb with no gum-gum. In the meantime, smack a bag of rice just like Uncle Roger.


	20. A Bunch of Hocus Pocus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon testing a new hypothesis, expect your instructor's guiding hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because you're a teacher doesn't mean school comes easily to you, particularly with all these magic lessons, as our protagonist continues to flounder one attempt at spells after another.
> 
> This chapter will be sensory/description heavy in style.

I step over another salt circle.

The castle has been decked out head to toe in a mess of candles, salts, and mystical graffiti, Felix working feverishly these past couple days to ward Fathom from all sorts of ill-begotten, otherworldly guests. Though lessons have continued each afternoon into the evenings, they’ve been more focused on my own practice, unlike the long discussions of before. I kinda miss them. At least Felix is still there to answer my questions when I’m not afraid of interrupting his own research, but until I can properly cast there is little value in continuing on with the magical theorems. At night, I notice the lights in his workshop burn later and later. I can sense he’s lesson planning—the _frustrated_ kind of lesson planning.

I’m at an impasse.

“Hocus pocus abracadabra arse blathanna...”

“I am starting to suspect you’re inventing a majority of the phrases you use,” Felix says, not even looking up from the book splayed across his desk. He’s gotten used to my mumblings.

I heave a heavy sigh.

“I’m not creative enough for that...” 

This has been the upteenth time I’ve attempted to levitate feathers, move teacups, and manipulate a candle flame. _This isn’t working_ . Already I miss getting my ass kicked by Anisa. Or even failing to keep up with one of Sage’s bounties. At least I knew I was getting somewhere, even if that somewhere was the dirt. Everything surrounding magic is too… _nebulous_. My patience is wearing thin—at this point I am no longer motivated by curiosity but pure spite over this string of failures!

I should be better than this.

Shouldn’t I?

A headache is forming; I can sense it slowly sinking it’s fingers into my squishy-squish brain.

What am I missing? 

I need to take a step back, return to square one… How did this subject start off in Mournfall, again?

Oh, right: _catalysts_. We never ended that train of thought, did we?

There was an idea that came to me that day. For the life of me I can’t remember it through the fog of _frustration_ and _headaches_ though!

What I wouldn’t give for a rubber duck right about now. But the old programmer’s trick of talking it out to an inanimate object hasn’t failed me yet. Whipping out my sketchbook I draw a particularly ugly duckling and stand it on the nearest coffee table. Paper will have to do. Warily, Felix eyes me crouching on the floor, muttering to a doodle of a duck.

“Catalyst. Catalyst. _Catalysts…_ either lower the energy transition rate or change the mechanism of reaction...” Rotating my head, it’s a piss poor attempt to release some tension. I give up to scowl at the ceiling. “Catalysts do this by… chemically modifying the reactants…”

“Or bonding to them,” he cuts in.

“Hmm… Oh yeah! _Skittles_!”

“...’skittles’?”

“I am having a eureka moment.”

“Please elucidate.”

“You remember our conversation in Mournfall right? About catalysts?”

“Er, yes.” Suddenly looking away, he removes his glasses. “Did you and, uh, your _little illustrated friend_ come up with something?” He gestures at the duck drawing with his frames.

“ _Catalysis_ . That’s what I wanted to try—sort of. Okay, maybe not technically. The bonding part, specifically. So, like I mentioned, magic is _weird_ to me. It’s foreign. My senses don’t know what to make of it. I have no point of reference, you see? Now, I’m gonna throw out some educational buzzwords _but_ : have you heard of scaffolding?”

“In terms of architecture, though I’m assuming that’s not in the same concept you’re referencing.”

“No no, that’s a perfect example. Scaffolding in education is _exactly_ like scaffolding a building. It creates a support structure so the building—in this case my skills—can be built without toppling. You _can_ build a building without it, but it’ll be slow going because of the greater failure potential. It’s the same with people, even babies.”

“I see,” A thoughtful finger taps his chin. “It’s like teaching a child to walk. First you hold their hand, and once they start to move you can let go.”

“Bingo. You were right in assigning me the magic tasks you did, but my zone of proximal development is probably different than average… Here, lemme draw a diagram.”

Grabbing my sketchbook once more, I draw three concentric circles, like a bullseye. Playing Vana White, I hold the page to face him as I gesture with my pencil, starting with the inner circle. “So what I can do is _here_ .” I point to the last ring, saying, “What I can’t do is _here_ .” Finally, I trace the middle section. “And _this_ part is the stuff I can do with aid. This is my ZPD.”

He mulls over it, taking out a glasses cloth to clean the smudges from his lenses. “So what you require is for me to model more spells for you? Because I certainly cannot perform things _for_ you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“ _That’s_ where my bonding idea comes in.”

“Hmm— _oh_!” It clicks. And I nod, satisfied. “Oh, I see. You need a middle ground. Partially doing it yourself, yet still bolstered by another’s abilities.”

“Ding ding ding! If I could link up with your magic somehow, that would help me get a feel for what correct magic casting _should_ be like, rather than just assuming.”

Like parsing out the flavors of Skittles.

Huzzah, I am a veritable genius, I say!

Okay, not really.

But oh, it feels _good_ to pull out my field’s jargon again. I’m not as useless after all, it seems. If I didn’t come to a breakthrough soon I think both of us would have probably started hitting something.

Felix leans forward, steepling his fingers in one of his quintessential ‘ _appraising thought_ ’ gestures. The mage hums thoughtfully.

“That could very well work. However… something like this has not been done in the manner you’re detailing. At least, not to my knowledge.”

“Really?”

“No. There are similar techniques, such as drawing from the magic of another. And arguably healing is comparable. Hmm...” The mage soon smirks, confident and impish. There’s an excited glint in those eyes. “We shall be treading new ground. All the more reason to make an attempt.”

Finally we are _getting_ somewhere!

“Let’s get it.”

Instead of levitating, we decide creating flame would be best. I have yet to attempt any actual conjuring, as most lessons were focused on manipulating existing matter. But as we debate on the value of trying to lift another goddamn feather I point out that it would be harder to tell who is controlling what. He says something about shifting the onus of the spell. I say something about needing non-magical confirmation like sight or sound. 

His rebuttal was, “I’ll be able to discern the flow of magic.”

“Yeah well, data data _data_ , **I** cannot make bricks without clay,” was my proclamation.

So, fire it is.

If it’s filtered entirely through me, if I drop the connection for even a moment it’s liable to flicker and die. If the burden of spellcasting shifts entirely to him, it should similarly affect the flame.

Seated criss-cross-applesauce on the workshop floor, I roll up my sleeves as a precaution. Or maybe this makes me _more_ likely to get burned. Honestly, I’m not sure, but I feel more comfortable to do it anyway. My right hand stretches out between us, palm upheld, the dish the flame will rest upon. Gingerly, his own two hands rest underneath mine. Unlike the incident with the cup, I’m the one with chill hands here. The warmth of his own fingers slowly starts to seep into my skin, leaving a pleasant tingle. Has he already started buzzing with magic?

His eyes flicker to mine, then my hand, before closing in concentration.

“I will build the structure of the spell through your hand. Trace that energy as best you can.”

I nod, silent.

A warmth starts to build, starting from the press of his own skin against mine, washing upward through the rest of my hand. It was hot, actually. Hot, without pain, definitely hotter than that cup but I feel no urge to pull away. Still, it was just that, heat. I try to focus on it, there should be some sort of pattern to it, right? A warp and a weft? No, this heat felt closer to still, deep waters.

I hadn’t realized I closed my eyes until Felix speaks again.

“Focus on other moments you’ve felt magic. That will help you delineate your own sense of it.”

When have I felt magic?

Actually _felt_ it?

I experienced it, many times by this point. My arrival, spirits, strange artifacts, runes, wards, the occasional translation spell cast on me, the portals which have now graduated from grape to muscat flavor... But that’s not the same as feeling it. That didn’t sing in my bones or pound in my ears.

That was like looking at a reproduction. Like looking at a small, captioned print of a Rothko in an art history book.

It’s _nothing_ like being in the same room as the real deal, all your visual senses absorbed and focused so thoroughly as to create a new state. To seep in. To submerge. Perhaps even to drown.

The poking and prodding of that healing spell, like invasive needlework, without anaesthesia. Like it was forcing my tissue and sinew to do things it was not ready to do. The crimson and black heat that rolled off absolutely feral combatants, poised to kill without second thought. It left a tang like a metallic poison in my mouth.

The ice in my blood. On the stairs, that day before I spoke to Celena. 

Like the Devil had come to play.

The necromancy, and how downright _sick_ to my stomach I felt as that ichor-like smoke flew past—and possibly through—me. How it coalesced into some mass of corruption and spite. And someone _chose_ to corrupt a spirit like that. A soul made _abominable_. 

Astarea. Everything feels _wrong_. 

I’m not supposed to _be_ here.

This isn’t my world. I’m not it’s child, it’s blood. I am an interloper, an intruder, a pathogen.

And bodies remove pathogens.

I felt an electric shock. It rang up from the tips of my fingers into my core, as if it was on the verge of stopping my heart. The necromancer dropped my hand. His own fingers twitched.

The spell backfired.

He looked at his wobbling hands, then to me, eyes wide.

“Perri, are you alright?”

No, no I’m not.

My entire right arm is numb. And on the edges of that numbness is pain.

In chemistry, it takes energy to break bonds. That energy must go _somewhere_.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

“Are you certain?” He asks. I hold up a stopping hand in reply, nodding. Leaning back on his haunches, his brow furrows. “That… was unexpected.”

That was all my fault, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry.”

The mage shakes his head. “No no, mistakes are to be expected. It might take a few attempts to perfect the technique, is all. Perhaps we should take a few moments to brush off the rebound and try again?”

With him there’s always some puzzle to solve, isn’t there?

That’s good. It keeps his mind off from noticing how sick I feel right now. As always, my voice does not waver.

“... Maybe there’s a better way to do this. I’m sure you can come up with something.”

“What? Your idea is perfectly sound. We just need to smooth out a few wrinkles.” Regarding me again, he pauses, raising a questioning brow. “I did not take you to be one easly discouraged by a lone failure. What happened to yesterday’s critic scribbling out her own sketches after the seventh attempt?”

That’s not the same!

That’s not the same at all!

I…

“...I’m just a little frazzled. I… uh… am not exactly sure what went wrong, anyway… You’re the expert. I’ll let you figure it out.”

There’s a beat. Everything is quiet. When I glance at him again, he’s staring at me with a frown.

“Perri, are you sure all is well?” Felix shifts forward. “Did you overexert your magic again? Perhaps you should rest—”

“—I don’t feel tired at all. That just really jolted me is all... Literally.”

“...If you are sure. But, if you have any concerns, do recall that _I_ am the instructor in this situation, not you.”

“Gee. Thanks. As if I had any intention of setting up shop with a degree that’s probably unusable here.”

The corners of his mouth twitch upward for a moment.

“Oh, I don’t know, even if you didn’t have the training I’m sure a class under your tutelage would be a far better experience than one with most professors currently in employment.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You try very hard,” he blinks, breaking eye contact. “And, ah, you’re clearly very dedicated to learning. And sharing that knowledge— _ahem_ … You are someone whom it is worthwhile to listen to.”

Another quiet moment. I weigh his words, and exhale.

“I should be saying that to you. You’re the best magic teacher I’ve had.”

“I’m the _only_ magic teacher you’ve had.”

“And I wouldn’t ask for another one.”

“Well then. You said yourself collaboration was best practice for teachers. I understand this was all experimental, but was there anything in the exchange that stood out to you? It may be worth inspecting more thoroughly.”

“Well it… hurt. It felt identical to an electric shock.” I glance at my exposed forearm, feeling relieved upon seeing the skin the same olive tone as normal. Not a hint of the fern-like patterns of a lichtenberg figure. It might not even have been electricity, then.

“I felt the same sensation, but it was definitely a fire spell I was crafting for you.”

I give a non-committal hum, giving the appearance of thought. But I can only focus on the gnawing in my gut. Talking with him hasn’t removed the pit in my stomach, it seems. If anything, he might just steer me back into it, headlong, with his press for inquiries. 

Stop it, Bostic! 

Focus on the _facts_.

“Fire and lightning are both plasma. I probably made a mistake.”

There we go. Problem solved. That’s probably what happened.

Congrats. I’m a sloppy screw-up.

“Hm. It… didn’t feel so directed though. It didn’t even produce an actual electric discharge... Was there aught else?” He chews on the memory, shifting to sit more comfortably. “...What did you focus on?”

“Hmm?”

“I told you to focus on other times you felt magic—bring it to the forefront. You may, perchance, have simply chosen a moment where the magic was desultory and sloppy?”

“...I don’t think that’s it.”

He blinks at me, turning inquisitorial. I blubber on.

“But, I’m not entirely sure…”

His eyes narrow. “Perri? If you have anything that might be relevant, I’d rather you tell me. Magic is in many ways a sense—a feeling, effectively. So whatever you were feeling in that moment could have been the cause for rebound.”

“No, it wasn’t anything… sensory.”

“Then why not mention it?” 

I don’t like the edge to that question. The edge in that voice, pointed at _me_.

“Because it’s... scary.” My voice was quiet. I’m not sure I entirely heard it myself.

“ _Scary_ ?” he says, his expression bewildered, disbelieving, and I dare guess a touch _offended_ . “You found this _scary_?”

“I— _yes_ ! Yes, _okay_? It was!”

The necromancer huffs, as if chastising a child for something idiotic. “Magic is merely a tool. There is nothing about it more malicious than a hammer.”

Gah!

“I _understand_ that.” The notes of my voice are cold. Yet, the feel of the words on my tongue is anything but. “Remember you _specifically_ told me to think of all the times I _felt_ magic. And that is the result. It’s poked at me, it's prodded at me, it's dragged my stomach down through the goddamn floor. On Earth there are no mages—there are no spirit thieves or necromancers.” My eyes feel as crisp as drywall, refusing to blink. “You’re right. A hammer is a tool. And I can think of a million and one awful, atrocious things I can do with a hammer.”

Shaking my head, I let my eyes trace the patterns in the rug instead. The trim is a garish paisley. “I—I don’t blame the magic… I just… I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“You are fully capable of magic, I know this to be fact. The spell would not have rebounded if you were not able to cast.”

“It’s not a debate about _possibility_ , Felix.”

There’s that sickness in my stomach again. Like the blood from my extremities are flowing into my abdomen, leaving my gut leaden but my head way to light to stay comfortably attached. The exception is that _wrist_. Though no longer bandaged, there’s a sting in the joint, remembering Celena’s unnatural grasp.

I’m not even scared. Just tired.

Really. 

Honestly.

Nothing but the kind of tired that makes me want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Felix looks at me, expectantly, hand outstretched. “Give me your hand.” 

I stare at it. 

I must have stared at it for too long. He sighs.

“ _Dimidium facti, qui coepit, habet; sapere aude, incipe_.”

I recognize that Latin.

Is that dead tongue known here as well? Had I muttered something before? 

_Sapere aude_ , the motto of the Enlightenment. _Dare to be wise_.

‘Man’s release from his self-incurred immaturity,’ in the words of Kant.

Because Felix fucking _would_ believe in those values. Glorious _reason_ , reigning king supreme. That is exactly what I would expect from him.

“Just trust me,” he continues, “Give me your hand.”

I sigh. And so I do.

My hand still has lingering pain from the previous shock. As he cups my hand, it starts to abate. It’s not healing magic, he’s already expressed his anxiety and inability around that—it’s just energy. Just warmth. Warmth like walking out of the shade into the sun. Warmth like a hot bath to end a rough day. Warmth like a medicinal balm of camphor and menthol.

“Let us start from the ground-up, then. A better example of magic for you to build upon,” he says.

Is he even _aware_ of how my skin feels right now? _My bones_?

Strange.

His voice barely cuts through the sensation.

“Just focus on what’s right before you. I’ll give you the pattern for a spell once more, but piecemeal. Catenated steps, this time.”

Breaking bonds releases energy. But making bonds takes in just as much.

And it feels like a lot is there.

But I can barely see anything different with my eyes. So I close them.

I’ll focus on my hand, then. The magic. My magic? His magic? I’m not entirely sure at this point. It’s all blurred together. The lines are implied at best.

And then there’s a shift. Earlier the magic was not still, merely deep. Patterns form for me to follow. Silent sounds, invisible images, tangless tastes.

Well, not really.

Felix wasn’t exaggerating when he said the sensation of magic itself could not properly be placed into words. It’s a sense, and how do you describe a sense? How do you describe balance? Taste? Smell? Vision?

There was something akin to a match striking. A spark.

I did not open my eyes but I could feel the _physical_ change between my fingers, no longer just magic. An ardorous flame started to flicker. Without looking I _knew_ it was the same copper green of his previous flames. 

Wait, I think I’m starting to get it...

Baby steps but, I think I can just try to _hold_ it for now. If I just keep the rhythm, keep in time… just try to preserve the moment, I could hold the magic flame myself! Fuel it, keep it alive and breathing. I clutch to everything I know about flames. The first time I saw a flame, my mom praying in the bedroom with rose-scented candles dyed a maroon red. The first time I dared hover my hand close, near the fireplace one miserable winter. The first time I lit a flame, a match to light sparklers on the Fourth of July.

My fingers twitch. 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The fire flickers.

“Perri, look.”

Yellow. The flame was yellow, as if dashed with sodium. I felt like a little kid again, fascinated by the kerosene lamps my parents would light during a power outage. It was the same color, the same smell.

I… I did that…

 _I did that_!

Felix smiles. Not a cocky smirk or snide grin, but a proper, honest-to-God _smile_ . I feel proud. My mind just brought something into _reality_ . This should be downright impossible. Eyes crinkle in amusement, taking on the warm tones of a French-gray, with a silent touch of _I-told-you-so_. With newfound confidence he slips his hands from mine, daring me to hold the fire on my own.

The flame extinguishes as soon as his last fingertip leaves my skin.

A pleasant tingling lingers, even as I flex my fingers through the wisps of black smoke.

“Well done,” the mage says, seeming self-satisfied.

“I… really did that…?”

“Undoubtedly. Though you still have a long ways to go, it’s a step in the right direction.” 

I finally blink.

“...  **_Holy shit_ ** .”

I’m a  _ wizard _ .

I cackled like a maniac. I’ll be restless and jittery for the rest of the week, to be sure. There’ll be no living with me now.

My face hurts from smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He who has begun is half done; dare to know; begin", reads the Latin.
> 
> I need an emotional support mage.
> 
> If we can land ins Astarea speaking and reading the same language, then by Jove, it's not wholly impossible for one of the original Lingua Franca's to be known by *someone*.
> 
> But yeah these magic-laden chapters are something I think long and hard about when writing, since they're so prone to being sensory driven and introspective I'm always concerned I'm gonna lose ya'll who want that juicy action or snappy dialogue. But this is the moment that inspired me to start this fic in the first place. Personally I think magic would be the HARDEST thing for a normal Earthling to learn just because of how it just isn't a thing back home. Like gaining a new sense or body part for the first time. Adjustment is going to be slow-going and rocky.
> 
> In the meantime, study Vygotsky, I suppose ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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